The world has taught us the art of letting go in words a lot of times.
Books talk about it. Movies romanticize it. Anime makes it emotional.
You see characters letting go of people, memories, dreams, positions, power, love — everything.
And when you watch it, read it, or hear someone else’s story, it feels right.
Like, haan, this is the right thing to do.
Let go. Move on. Be strong.
But when life teaches you the same thing… it hits very differently.
Because attachment is not just about people.
It can be about a person, yes.
But it can also be about a phase, a version of yourself, a routine, a room, an object, a feeling, a position you once held, even a comfort you don’t need anymore.
Anything means anything.
Growing up, I didn’t really have a lot of friends.
I still don’t, actually.
I make acquaintances very easily — that’s just who I am. I like knowing people. I like hearing their stories.
Somewhere early in my life, I read or heard this line (I honestly don’t even remember where):
You can’t live a thousand years, but if you hear a thousand stories of real people, you’ve lived a thousand lives.
That stayed with me.
That’s probably why I never hesitated to talk to strangers.
Mumbai trains. Chai tapris. Auto drivers. Watchmen. Guards. Vendors selling vada pav. Waiters. Random people.
I used to talk to everyone… except people my own age.
Not out of ego — I genuinely felt most of them were idiots back then.
Listening to people talk about their lives felt more real to me than studying general knowledge. I didn’t crave facts. I craved experiences. Borrowed experiences. Lived-through-others kind of experiences.
Later, when I got into network marketing, I got introduced to books.
A whole universe of books.
For a while, I thought this was the shortcut to life.
Yes, I read The Secret. Irony accepted.
I thought books could replace living.
They can’t. They can guide, sure. But they don’t replace silence, loneliness, responsibility, or change.
Then Jaipur happened.
Living alone.
Restarting my career in digital marketing.
Staying in a small office quarter from 2021 to 2023.
One room. One bathroom. That’s it.
My logic was simple — I’m anyway at work from morning till evening. I just need a place to sleep, shower, and clean up. The office cleaner cleaned my room. Life was… simple.
Then my mother came to Jaipur because of certain things happening in my life.
And suddenly, life shifted.
I moved to a rented 1 BHK.
₹8,000 rent. Electricity bills. Cleaning. Cooking. Responsibility.
When you start taking care of someone else, you don’t realize it immediately — but you’re also letting go of a version of yourself.
In 2024, I rented a sofa and a treadmill from RentoMojo. Bought a coffee table. Chairs. A cotton mattress. Slowly built a “proper house”.
From outside, it looked like settling.
Inside, it still felt temporary.
My mother doesn’t even stay with me continuously because family and roots are in Mumbai. I spend most of my time in the office anyway — because I like working. I like people. I like building things.
I’m not a sit-at-home kind of guy.
And then on 25th January, I returned the sofa and the treadmill.
18 months of rent.
Empty hall.
People asked me why.
I gave logical answers — rent was high, EMI would have been cheaper, financially it didn’t make sense.
But honestly… that wasn’t the real reason.
The real reason is — I don’t like getting attached to things.
Or maybe I do, and I don’t like how attachment quietly controls you.
Maybe I get bored.
Maybe I like resetting.
Maybe I like reminding myself that nothing is permanent — not comfort, not struggle, not identity.
When I stood in that empty hall, it didn’t feel sad.
It felt powerful.
Like a restart button.
In the last 10 years, I’ve let go of fears, achievements, people, teams, roles, versions of myself.
I’ve changed teammates.
Some taught me patience.
Some taught me how to argue less.
Some taught me how to care.
Some taught me how to teach.
Some taught me how to listen.
Some taught me how to approve ideas.
Some taught me where ideas even come from.
Every phase gave something.
Every phase asked me to let go of something.
And staring at that empty hall, one thought kept coming back:
Maybe the art of letting go is not about losing things.
Maybe it’s about creating space.
Space to breathe.
Space to rebuild.
Space to become someone new without carrying old furniture — literally and emotionally.
Maybe it’s not about letting go of what you’re attached to.
Maybe it’s about letting go of the person you’ve been trying to be for the world.
And trusting that if you’ve built yourself once…
you can build yourself again.
Anytime.