There comes a moment on every adventure where you realize you’ve been carrying too much.
I’ve reached that moment.
When I first set out on this journey, I packed everything I thought I needed—dreams, expectations, memories, roles, people, pain. But now, some of that weight is starting to feel less like preparation and more like a burden.
So I’m sitting down with my metaphorical backpack and unpacking a few things.
I’m letting go of the pressure to be perfect. It’s taken up too much space, and it never really helped anyway. Growth doesn’t need polish—it needs truth.
I’m letting go of the comparisons I’ve made with others. They’ve only ever made me question my path when my path was already valid.
I’m letting go of dreams that no longer feel right for the road I’m on. They may have been beautiful once, but some dreams are only meant to carry you part of the way.
I’m letting go of old identities—the parts of me that were born out of fear, survival, or someone else’s expectations. They were useful for a time, but I don’t need to keep carrying them anymore.
I’m letting go of grief that I’ve tried to bury deep in hidden pockets. Grief deserves space, not silence. It’s not something to “get over”—but I don’t need to pack it in guilt.
And maybe most of all, I’m letting go of the adventure I never took.
The roads I didn’t walk. The chances I didn’t seize. The versions of me I imagined but never became. It’s tender to lay them down. But not every story is meant to be lived. Some are simply meant to teach you what really matters on the road you’re on.
As I continue this journey, I want to travel lighter. With more room for joy. For wonder. For peace.
Not everything is meant to come with me. And that’s okay.
