The Wisdom of Letting Go

Listening. Loosening. Letting Go.

In a recent response to a friend’s post about uncertainty and curiosity, and in light of the deep divisions we’re living through in our country—I found myself wondering:

Could curiosity be what saves us?

The author wrote back and asked me what I’m most uncertain about.

This one felt more vulnerable to answer, but I wanted to respond authentically, so I wrote: I’m uncertain about some of the beliefs I was taught. But in naming that, something else surfaced too—what I am more certain about. And what bubbled up surprised me: faith, hope, and love.

Love? Absolutely.
Hope? Yes, that too.
But faith? That’s the one I thought I’d been trying to let go of.

So I’ve been sitting with that. Getting curious about it.

I’ve also been paying closer attention to what’s happening in my body—my emotions—because they often speak before words do. This morning, while reading, I started tearing up. Crying, even. And I’ve learned: when that happens, it’s worth paying attention.

Here’s what moved me.

I was reading Anthony De Mello’s book Awareness. He tells a story about teaching a course, and one of his mentors—an elder, a sage—came to listen. Afterwards, the elder came up to him and said, “I should have heard you speak sixty years ago. You know something. I've been wrong all my life.”

That line hit me hard.

There’s something about the humility in it. The willingness to listen with openness. To hold the possibility of being wrong—not with shame, but with grace.

The wisest people I’ve witnessed—whether up close or from afar—seem to have this in common: they stay curious, they keep listening, and they’re not afraid to let go.

Maybe that’s what faith really is—not clinging to certainty, but staying open—to truth, to curiosity, to learning.

I think I was confusing faith with belief. For a while, I thought I was trying to let go of faith. But what I’m really doing is letting go of the beliefs that no longer serve me—the ones that kept me small, or afraid, or from moving through the world in love.

Faith, it turns out, might actually be the thing that’s been with me all along.

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So often in coaching, this is where the work begins: not in having the answers, but in naming the deeper questions. What are the beliefs I’ve inherited—and are they still serving me? What would it look like to meet uncertainty with curiosity instead of control?

These are gentle yet powerful shifts. They invite us to pause, to notice, and to lead from a different place—one rooted in presence, openness, and love.

If this reflection resonates with you, it might be a doorway into your own inquiry.

(With gratitude to Anthony De Mello, whose work in Awareness helped spark this line of reflection.)