“At times, allowing things to leave is a demonstration of much greater strength than clinging or defending.” ~Eckhart Tolle
I have always been the type who meticulously organizes every detail.
My planner was color-coordinated, to-do lists were thoroughly structured, and I could nearly foresee my schedule six months ahead.
I associated control with security, thinking that if I maintained order in my life, nothing negative would happen.
This perception worked for a while. I graduated with accolades, landed a good position, and crafted a seemingly secure life. However, inside, I was anxious, awakening with a tight chest and a mind that wouldn’t cease its racing. What if I overlooked something? What if I made a poor choice?
I persuaded myself that if I attained enough, strategized enough, earned enough, I would finally find relaxation. That moment never came.
The Year Everything Unraveled
Then came the year my meticulously designed plans began to disintegrate.
It started with my relationship. After three years, my partner told me, “I feel we’re not suited for each other anymore.”
I nodded calmly, attempting to remain logical, despite my stomach being in turmoil. After he left, I spent the night staring at the ceiling, replaying everything, searching for the point where I could have altered the result.
A month later, my company announced workforce reductions. My department was “reorganized.” I had two weeks to clean out my workspace.
Losing both my relationship and employment felt like falling. My existence, once grounded in control, now had no base.
I told myself I would bounce back swiftly. I made lists of job applications, networking contacts, and career options. I occupied every moment with tasks because stillness felt intolerable.
However, the more I tried to restore my life, the more disoriented I became.
The Moment I Finally Gave In
One overcast afternoon, sitting in my car outside a café, surrounded by job applications and empty food containers, I was meant to prepare for another interview, but I found myself immobilized. My hands shook on the steering wheel.
In that instant, something within me fractured. I murmured, “I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.”
For the first time in months, I ceased my efforts.
I remained in silence for twenty minutes, observing raindrops slide down the glass. My breathing was slow and labored. There was nothing remaining to plan or remedy.
Rather than panic, I experienced relief.
It felt as if the universe had been waiting for me to cease resisting it.
Discovering How to Live Without a Blueprint
That day marked the beginning of what I didn’t