We all know the feeling. That something needs to go. We mull over decisions big and small. The small gift from years ago. Those clothes that don’t fit anymore in the corner. The nick-nacks you’ve been meaning to donate. You pass by day after day. Week after week. 

Why? 

Just maybe there is something you’re not quite ready to let go of yet. An old shirt that made you feel like a rock star. A gift from someone long gone and guilt grips your hand as you consider letting it go. Fear runs side-by-side with guilt to hold us frozen. 

Or maybe it is time to move on from a job. A relationship. A phase of life. A bad habit. 

Or all the above. 

Sometimes our hands are forced and choosing to let go isn’t an option, but a fertile ground to rebuild habits, thinking, relationships, and life. 

There is science to support our need to hold onto items, places, people, and daily interactions that bring us peace and certainty.

We need certainty to feel safe. Yet, that can make us cling to familiar patterns even if they are harmful. 

Our brains feel loss more than gains. This principle is called loss aversion. It makes letting go of things extremely difficult. That favorite t-shirt, while still super cozy, brings the memories with it.

Past experiences. People. That job you hate but golden handcuffs keep you locked in. 

2025 was my year of letting go.

It began like all New Year’s Eve begins. The countdown starts. The clock kicks over. Balloons drop. People kiss while music and confetti rain down. Hugs spread as people close the chapter of the previous year.  

A sense of optimism emerges. We count the wins, the losses, the might-haves, the missed opportunities – all in all – lessons learned. We pledge to do better. 

We love a clean slate. The blank page. Writing a new story. Righting wrongs.

Friends came and went as life shifted lanes and directions. 

Became an empty nester a couple years before planned. Since my son was four-years old, it was just him and me. Suddenly, all the school drop offs, lunch packing, video game playing, LEGO building, sports practices, and weekend adventures were gone in a blink. 

I found myself asking, “how did it go so fast?”

My 20-year career in the skilled nursing profession ended with a corporate buyout and layoffs. For the first time since 1997 I do not have a job. 

But there is good news. Besides the “oh shit” every morning on figuring out what is next, there is incredible opportunity. 

The neuroplasticity in our brains can form new patterns. New ways of thinking and replacing fear with opportunity. That is the journey.

I don’t know what is next. But I’m still here. 

January 7, 2026