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“Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than defending or hanging on.” ~Eckhart Tolle
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the kind of person who plans everything.
My calendar was color-coded, my to-do lists perfectly alphabetized, and I could tell you what I’d be doing six months from now almost down to the hour.
I thought control meant safety. If I could organize my world tightly enough, maybe nothing bad would happen.
For a long time, that illusion worked. I graduated near the top of my class, got a good job, and built a life that looked stable on the outside. Inside, though, I was wound tight. I woke up with tension in my chest most mornings, and my brain rarely stopped spinning. What if I missed something? What if I made the wrong choice?
I told myself that once everything settled—once I achieved enough, earned enough, planned enough—then I’d finally relax. Of course, that day never came.
The Year Everything Fell Apart
Then came the year when everything I’d carefully constructed began to crumble.
It started with my relationship. After three years together, my partner sat me down one evening and said the words no one ever wants to hear: “I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore.”
I remember nodding calmly, trying to sound reasonable, even while my stomach churned. After he left, I spent the night staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, trying to find the exact point where I could have changed the outcome.
A month later, the company I worked for announced a round of layoffs. My department was “restructured.” I had two weeks to pack up my desk.
Losing both my relationship and job in the same season felt like freefall. I’d built my life around control—around keeping everything secure—and now there was nothing left to hold onto.
I told myself I’d bounce back quickly. I made lists of places to apply, people to network with, and backup career options. I filled every minute of my day with activity because sitting still felt unbearable.
But the harder I tried to fix my life, the more lost I felt.
The Moment I Finally Stopped
One gray afternoon, I was sitting in my car outside a coffee shop, surrounded by job applications and empty takeout cups. I was supposed to be preparing for another interview, but I couldn’t make myself move. My hands were trembling on the steering wheel.
In that moment, something inside me just broke. I remember whispering out loud, “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
And then, for the first time in months, I stopped trying.
I sat there in silence for what must have been twenty minutes, staring out the window at the rain streaking down the glass. My breath came slow and heavy. There was nothing left to plan or fix.
Strangely, instead of panic, I felt something else: relief.
It was as if the world had been waiting for me to stop fighting it.
Learning to Live Without a Plan
That day marked the beginning of something I didn’t yet have words for: surrender.
At first, it wasn’t graceful. I felt uncomfortable doing “nothing.” My mind would jump in, demanding answers—What’s next? What if you fail? What if people think you’ve given up?
But each time those thoughts came, I tried something new. Instead of reacting, I just noticed them. Sometimes I’d say quietly to myself, “Maybe I don’t need to know right now.”
I started taking long walks without my phone. I paid attention to small things—the sound of leaves scraping the sidewalk, the rhythm of my steps, the way the air felt against my skin.
At night, I stopped forcing solutions. Instead, I’d write down a question like What do I really want? and let it sit there, unanswered.
Slowly, the space that used to be filled with anxiety began to soften.
The Unexpected Invitation
About two months later, I got a message from a friend I hadn’t seen in years. She worked at a community center that offered free English classes for newly arrived refugees. One of their teachers had suddenly quit, and they needed a volunteer to fill in temporarily.
“Just a few weeks,” she said. “Until we find someone permanent.”
Old me would have hesitated immediately. I wasn’t a teacher. It didn’t fit my plan. It wasn’t “practical.”
But something in me had shifted. I said yes without overthinking.
The first day, I stood in front of a room of people from half a dozen countries, all smiling nervously, clutching notebooks and pencils. I stumbled through my introduction, certain I was making a fool of myself. But within minutes, the nervousness melted.
We laughed over pronunciation mishaps, drew pictures to communicate when words failed, and celebrated when someone managed a full sentence in English.
Every time one of my students said “thank you” with that bright, genuine smile, something in my heart unfurled.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t high-paying. But it felt real. I left each class lighter than when I’d arrived.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t chasing an outcome. I was simply showing up.
The Subtle Transformation
That volunteer position ended up lasting six months. By the time it was over, I’d discovered something profound: peace doesn’t come from controlling life. It comes from allowing yourself to be part of it.
When I stopped micromanaging the future, I began to notice the beauty of the present—tiny, easily missed moments that had always been there.
A child laughing on the bus. The smell of fresh rain on concrete. The way sunlight filters through tree branches in the afternoon.
Before, I’d been too busy worrying about what might happen to notice what was happening.
And the more I noticed, the less I needed to control.
I realized that uncertainty isn’t the enemy—it’s the birthplace of possibility. When you stop forcing life to match your expectations, it starts surprising you in the best ways.
Letting Life Lead
Eventually, the experience at the community center led to a job offer at a local nonprofit. I didn’t plan it, didn’t chase it—it just unfolded naturally.
But more than the new job, what stayed with me was a quieter sense of trust.
Now, when things don’t go my way, I still feel disappointment—but I don’t spiral the way I used to. I’ve learned that life has a rhythm of its own, one I can’t always understand but can learn to flow with.
Sometimes the plans that fall apart are the ones that make room for something truer to emerge.
The Ongoing Practice of Letting Go
Letting go isn’t something I mastered once and for all. It’s a daily practice.
There are still days I catch myself gripping too tightly—refreshing my email every five minutes, replaying conversations in my head, worrying about what’s next.
When that happens, I remind myself to breathe. Literally—to take one deep, slow breath and feel the air move through me. It’s a way of returning to the present moment, where life is actually happening.
From there, I ask one gentle question:
What if everything is unfolding exactly as it should?
That single thought softens the tension every time.
What I’ve Learned
Looking back, I can see that losing control wasn’t a failure—it was an invitation. An invitation to trust life instead of managing it, to listen instead of dictate, to experience instead of analyze.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
Control is often a disguise for fear.
When I felt scared or uncertain, I tried to fix everything. But peace didn’t come from fixing—it came from accepting.
Uncertainty is not chaos.
It’s space—space for new growth, for unexpected joy, for learning who you are when the old plans fall away.
Surrender is active, not passive.
It’s not giving up—it’s choosing to participate in life as it unfolds, instead of fighting against it.
Presence changes everything.
The more I stay grounded in the moment, the less I need the illusion of control.
A Quiet Invitation
If you’re in a season of uncertainty right now—if life feels messy and unplanned—I know how uncomfortable that can be. But maybe, just maybe, it’s not something to fix. Maybe it’s something to trust.
Try this:
Stop for a moment and feel your breath move in and out of your body. Notice your surroundings—the texture of the chair beneath you, the sounds in the background, the rhythm of your heartbeat.
Right here, in this ordinary moment, you are safe. You are alive. You are enough.
You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need to be here, open and willing to let life lead you.
When you release your grip on how you think things should be, you create space for something far better than control: peace.
And peace, I’ve learned, has a way of showing you exactly where to go next.
About Franco Aison
After years of studying Buddhism, Franco shares insights on life’s deeper truths, karma, and the transformative power of Buddhist mantras. Through reflections and practice, he explores how ancient wisdom can bring peace, clarity, and good fortune in our modern lives. Discover more at startgoodluck.com.
