SUCCESS

“Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than defending or hanging on.” ~Eckhart Tolle

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the kind of person who plans everything.

My calendar was color-coded, my to-do lists perfectly alphabetized, and I could tell you what I’d be doing six months from now almost down to the hour.

I thought control meant safety. If I could organize my world tightly enough, maybe nothing bad would happen.

For a long time, that illusion worked. I graduated near the top of my class, got a good job, and built a life that looked stable on the outside. Inside, though, I was wound tight. I woke up with tension in my chest most mornings, and my brain rarely stopped spinning. What if I missed something? What if I made the wrong choice?

I told myself that once everything settled—once I achieved enough, earned enough, planned enough—then I’d finally relax. Of course, that day never came.

The Year Everything Fell Apart

Then came the year when everything I’d carefully constructed began to crumble.

It started with my relationship. After three years together, my partner sat me down one evening and said the words no one ever wants to hear: “I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore.”

I remember nodding calmly, trying to sound reasonable, even while my stomach churned. After he left, I spent the night staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, trying to find the exact point where I could have changed the outcome.

A month later, the company I worked for announced a round of layoffs. My department was “restructured.” I had two weeks to pack up my desk.

Losing both my relationship and job in the same season felt like freefall. I’d built my life around control—around keeping everything secure—and now there was nothing left to hold onto.

I told myself I’d bounce back quickly. I made lists of places to apply, people to network with, and backup career options. I filled every minute of my day with activity because sitting still felt unbearable.

But the harder I tried to fix my life, the more lost I felt.

The Moment I Finally Stopped

One gray afternoon, I was sitting in my car outside a coffee shop, surrounded by job applications and empty takeout cups. I was supposed to be preparing for another interview, but I couldn’t make myself move. My hands were trembling on the steering wheel.

In that moment, something inside me just broke. I remember whispering out loud, “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

And then, for the first time in months, I stopped trying.

I sat there in silence for what must have been twenty minutes, staring out the window at the rain streaking down the glass. My breath came slow and heavy. There was nothing left to plan or fix.

Strangely, instead of panic, I felt something else: relief.

It was as if the world had been waiting for me to stop fighting it.

Learning to Live Without a Plan

That day marked the beginning of something I didn’t yet have words for: surrender.

At first, it wasn’t graceful. I felt uncomfortable doing “nothing.” My mind would jump in, demanding answers—What’s next? What if you fail? What if people think you’ve given up?

But each time those thoughts came, I tried something new. Instead of reacting, I just noticed them. Sometimes I’d say quietly to myself, “Maybe I don’t need to know right now.”

I started taking long walks without my phone. I paid attention to small things—the sound of leaves scraping the sidewalk, the rhythm of my steps, the way the air felt against my skin.

At night, I stopped forcing solutions. Instead, I’d write down a question like What do I really want? and let it sit there, unanswered.

Slowly, the space that used to be filled with anxiety began to soften.

The Unexpected Invitation

About two months later, I got a message from a friend I hadn’t seen in years. She worked at a community center that offered free English classes for newly arrived refugees. One of their teachers had suddenly quit, and they needed a volunteer to fill in temporarily.

“Just a few weeks,” she said. “Until we find someone permanent.”

Old me would have hesitated immediately. I wasn’t a teacher. It didn’t fit my plan. It wasn’t “practical.”

But something in me had shifted. I said yes without overthinking.

The first day, I stood in front of a room of people from half a dozen countries, all smiling nervously, clutching notebooks and pencils. I stumbled through my introduction, certain I was making a fool of myself. But within minutes, the nervousness melted.

We laughed over pronunciation mishaps, drew pictures to communicate when words failed, and celebrated when someone managed a full sentence in English.

Every time one of my students said “thank you” with that bright, genuine smile, something in my heart unfurled.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t high-paying. But it felt real. I left each class lighter than when I’d arrived.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t chasing an outcome. I was simply showing up.

The Subtle Transformation

That volunteer position ended up lasting six months. By the time it was over, I’d discovered something profound: peace doesn’t come from controlling life. It comes from allowing yourself to be part of it.

When I stopped micromanaging the future, I began to notice the beauty of the present—tiny, easily missed moments that had always been there.

A child laughing on the bus. The smell of fresh rain on concrete. The way sunlight filters through tree branches in the afternoon.

Before, I’d been too busy worrying about what might happen to notice what was happening.

And the more I noticed, the less I needed to control.

I realized that uncertainty isn’t the enemy—it’s the birthplace of possibility. When you stop forcing life to match your expectations, it starts surprising you in the best ways.

Letting Life Lead

Eventually, the experience at the community center led to a job offer at a local nonprofit. I didn’t plan it, didn’t chase it—it just unfolded naturally.

But more than the new job, what stayed with me was a quieter sense of trust.

Now, when things don’t go my way, I still feel disappointment—but I don’t spiral the way I used to. I’ve learned that life has a rhythm of its own, one I can’t always understand but can learn to flow with.

Sometimes the plans that fall apart are the ones that make room for something truer to emerge.

The Ongoing Practice of Letting Go

Letting go isn’t something I mastered once and for all. It’s a daily practice.

There are still days I catch myself gripping too tightly—refreshing my email every five minutes, replaying conversations in my head, worrying about what’s next.

When that happens, I remind myself to breathe. Literally—to take one deep, slow breath and feel the air move through me. It’s a way of returning to the present moment, where life is actually happening.

From there, I ask one gentle question:
What if everything is unfolding exactly as it should?

That single thought softens the tension every time.

What I’ve Learned

Looking back, I can see that losing control wasn’t a failure—it was an invitation. An invitation to trust life instead of managing it, to listen instead of dictate, to experience instead of analyze.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Control is often a disguise for fear.

When I felt scared or uncertain, I tried to fix everything. But peace didn’t come from fixing—it came from accepting.

Uncertainty is not chaos.

It’s space—space for new growth, for unexpected joy, for learning who you are when the old plans fall away.

Surrender is active, not passive.

It’s not giving up—it’s choosing to participate in life as it unfolds, instead of fighting against it.

Presence changes everything.

The more I stay grounded in the moment, the less I need the illusion of control.

A Quiet Invitation

If you’re in a season of uncertainty right now—if life feels messy and unplanned—I know how uncomfortable that can be. But maybe, just maybe, it’s not something to fix. Maybe it’s something to trust.

Try this:

Stop for a moment and feel your breath move in and out of your body. Notice your surroundings—the texture of the chair beneath you, the sounds in the background, the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Right here, in this ordinary moment, you are safe. You are alive. You are enough.

You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need to be here, open and willing to let life lead you.

When you release your grip on how you think things should be, you create space for something far better than control: peace.

And peace, I’ve learned, has a way of showing you exactly where to go next.

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“The way you look at things is the most powerful force shaping your life.” ~John O’Donohue

As often happens at this time of year, I recently found myself lamenting how quickly time had passed. In this agitated headspace, the myriad of goals I did not accomplish and the numerous targets I did not reach sprang to the forefront of my mind.

Though unwelcome and unhelpful, these thoughts pushed their way into my internal dialogue, reinforcing themselves by collecting evidence of where I’d fallen short.

Viewing my past year through a critical lens cultivates a feeling of dislike for myself. It not only robs me of the present moment but also colors my perspective on the year ahead, making optimism and self-trust harder to access.

I know I am not alone in this futile exercise. But the fact is, a judgmental mindset isn’t fixed. Although the word itself implies a rooted outlook, mindset is actually fluid. Your focus determines its orientation at any given moment.

While viewing your past year through a lens of judgment is one way to reflect on the past, viewing it through a lens of empowerment is another.

Reframe Your Year Through Reflective Positive Journaling

One of the simplest ways to shift your lens and guide your mindset toward empowerment is through structured reflection—specifically, reflective positive journaling.

Reflective positive journaling isn’t new, but it remains one of the most effective ways to cultivate a more compassionate and balanced view of your past year and, consequently, yourself. When you focus on what nourished and strengthened you, your year shifts from a list of unfinished goals into a meaningful story of your life.

As I moved through my reflective positive journaling process, I brought to light the many meaningful moments of joy and connection that had nothing to do with a to-do list.

They showed up in moments when I chose rest over productivity, spoke more gently to myself, or allowed “good enough” to be enough. What initially felt like an unremarkable year revealed itself to be one marked by steadiness, self-trust, and subtle courage.

With this reframing in mind, the prompts below are designed to gently guide your attention toward growth, nourishment, and moments you may have overlooked.

Positive Reflective Journal Prompts

Ways I Grew Without Realizing It

It’s easy to overlook the many subtle ways that you’ve changed over the year. Were there times when you made self-care a priority or were successful in upholding your commitment to honor your needs, perhaps saying no to social invitations that didn’t interest you?

Were there instances when you released the need to do everything perfectly or please everybody and instead accepted that you were worthy of love, respect, and admiration just as you are?

Were there periods when you intentionally cared for your body by making healthier eating choices, being more active, and getting a solid night’s sleep?

All of these moments of growth are easy to dismiss when viewed in isolation, but together they form the foundation of real, lasting change. Each small choice you made in your own favor quietly added up to a year of profound growth—growth that deserves to be seen and celebrated.

Looking back, I was surprised by moments when I chose flexibility over rigidity, curiosity over judgment, and patience over urgency. Small acts—such as asking a co-worker about her approach instead of assuming it was wrong, adapting to a change in my travel itinerary after a canceled flight, or slowing my walking pace to accommodate an older friend—became evidence of how I’d grown.

These moments didn’t feel dramatic at the time, yet in hindsight they revealed how much had shifted beneath the surface. This reminded me that growth often shows up not in dramatic achievements, but in the steady willingness to show up for myself and others, even when it feels uncomfortable.

Ways I Am Proud of Myself

It doesn’t matter how big or small the accomplishment; allow yourself to feel proud. Pride in yourself is a quiet, grounded appreciation of yourself.

Perhaps you stood up for yourself in a situation where you would normally remain quiet or worked your way through a scenario that you typically avoided out of fear and discomfort.

Did you help a loved one through a difficult period?

Did you learn something new or stick to a commitment that mattered to you?

What challenges did you overcome?

Each of these moments creates opportunities for you to celebrate your efforts, reflect on your courage, and feel satisfaction in your accomplishments throughout the year.

Reflecting on this prompt, I noticed how easily I had minimized my own efforts. Yet as I looked more closely, moments of quiet pride began to surface.

This year, I recognized when I stood up for myself in the face of a bullying personality instead of shrinking to avoid conflict, the times when I followed through on my commitment to exercise daily, and when I was able to stay present in situations that typically overwhelmed me.

None of these moments came with fanfare, but each required courage. Allowing myself to feel proud didn’t inflate my ego; it grounded me.

Occasions When I Felt Fulfilled

From the standpoint that fulfillment doesn’t equate to accomplishment, recall times when you were emotionally and spiritually nourished.

Did you attend a religious service that cultivated a sense of connection? Or did you have an experience with friends that left you feeling fulfilled and replenished?

Recognizing these moments helps you understand what truly nourishes your spirit and brings deeper meaning into your life.

For me, memories of deep conversations with my best friend, moments of shared laughter with my mom, and being fully present when playing with my four-year-old niece came to mind. These reminded me that deep satisfaction does not always come from checking items off a to-do list.

Moments When I Felt Peaceful and Content

Reflect on times when your nervous system settled and you felt calm and grounded.

Perhaps it was a quiet morning with tea, a slow walk outside, or an evening when you felt more at ease after turning off your devices.

When I reflected on my moments of peace and contentment, I noticed they most often found me when I spent time interacting with the natural world. Immersing myself in a slower-paced environment allowed my brain to decelerate and relax.

Activities That Fueled My Energy

Your energy is a compass; noticing what replenished you helps you understand what supports your well-being.

Which routines, hobbies, or connections left you feeling more energized than when you began?

Whether creative pursuits, athletic endeavors, time alone, or time with others, recognizing what gave you energy helps you hold your year in a more balanced and positive frame.

Looking back on what fueled my energy this year, I realized that some of my most replenishing moments came from time spent alone. Being by myself allowed me to breathe, reset, and reconnect with what truly mattered. Hiking, coloring, or tending my garden gave me a sense of calm focus while quietly refilling my reserves.

Happy, Unexpected Coincidences That Occurred

Unexpected moments of connection or synchronicity can remind you that delight and surprise were woven throughout your year.

Did an old friend you had recently been thinking about reach out, or did you unexpectedly run into a treasured co-worker from a previous job at the market?

Perhaps you found yourself in the right place at the right time to witness a natural wonder, such as a breaching whale or soaring hawk.

Life is full of unexplained coincidences that, when viewed in hindsight, can take on a synchronistic quality, reminding you that connection can arrive without effort.

When I reflected on this, I recalled how a spontaneous walk in my neighborhood put me in the right spot to run into my retired high school teacher, or when I followed an impulse to look skyward and witnessed a bald eagle leaving its nest.

I was surprised at how recognizing even small coincidences caused my year to take on a sense of delight, reminding me that magic had been quietly threading through it all along.

—

These prompts are just that—gentle invitations to pause and look back on the past year with a kinder, more balanced perspective. As you sit with your experiences, you will begin to remember the wins, the joys, and the moments of courage that might have otherwise been forgotten.

Carrying this perspective into the new year offers a valuable sense of direction. When you understand what supported your well-being and what fueled your energy, you naturally gain insight into what to prioritize moving forward.

Simple Ways to Use This Momentum in the New Year

Reconnect with people.

Who made an impact on your life this year? Reach out to them with a message or call to say thank you. Whether it’s a mentor, a friend, or a family member, expressing gratitude strengthens your relationships and reinforces the connections that matter most.

Set new intentions, not resolutions.

Instead of rigid resolutions, set intentions that align with the values you rediscovered about yourself. For example, you might aim to “be kinder to yourself,” “explore new opportunities,” or “prioritize rest and self-care without guilt.” Intentions offer direction without the pressure of achieving. 

Create a small ritual to mark the transition.

Mark the end of the year with a simple ritual that feels meaningful to you. Light a candle, say a prayer, or write down what you want to release and safely burn the paper. You might also clean a room, organize a drawer, or clear your workspace. The physical act of making space mirrors the emotional process of creating room for the new year.

If you feel inclined, writing a letter to your future self can help capture what you learned and what you hope to carry forward. Sometimes selecting a single word—such as steadiness, growth, ease, or connection—that reflects how you want to be or what you wish to cultivate is a way of setting a launching point for the year.

As I prepare to welcome 2026, I will let my reflections guide me—reminding me of what truly mattered, the ways I was strengthened, and the seeds of growth I want to nurture in the year ahead. I will carry forward the lessons learned, the moments of courage, and the quiet victories, allowing them to shape my choices with intention and care.

Growth often happens quietly—but when we pause to acknowledge it, we give it space to deepen, allowing us to step into the new year with clarity, purpose, and a grounded sense of pride in how far we have come.

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