Letting Go

When I was younger, I used to train in martial arts, skateboard, and play drums. Then I had kids, and I stopped doing all of these things for a decade. During my hiatus, my body weakened more than I realized. My mind vividly remembered going all out in each of these hobbies, but my body had completely forgotten.

I wanted my kids to train in martial arts, thinking it would be a good opportunity for me to get back into it—two birds, one stone. However, shortly after I began training, I tore one of my ACLs, which abruptly halted my martial arts practice. I had to say goodbye to skateboarding as well. I was devastated; two of my three hobbies were taken from me in an instant.

After surgery, it took me two years to recover fully. When I finally regained the courage to return to martial arts, I tore my other ACL within a month. At that point, I realized my body simply could not keep up with my ego.

My ego wanted to preserve its identity at all costs. I was unaware that my favorite hobbies had become integral parts of my ego’s identity. Being able to engage in certain activities had become defining characteristics of who I was. Not being able to perform these activities jeopardized that identity, so my ego pushed me to meet expectations my body could not fulfill.

At the cost of both of my knees, I learned one of the most liberating lessons of my life: to let go. I was physically forced to do so; I can no longer engage in martial arts or skateboarding as I once did. More importantly, I had the opportunity to learn how to allow my soul to release my ego. Whether my ego likes it or not, I can’t physically do what it demands of me anymore. Now I have two choices: 1) wallow in misery, or 2) accept my circumstances and move on.

I initially chose to wallow in misery… for a little while. But I slowly found ways to adapt to my new lifestyle. Little by little, I learned a new way to live. I reflected on my happy memories in martial arts and skateboarding, expressing immense gratitude for the joy they brought me. Those memories will always be with me; I will always be connected to them. So, there’s nothing to fear in letting go of this part of my ego. Nothing that happens now can change those happy memories.

After allowing this part of my ego to die, I felt profoundly lighter—a tremendous burden had been lifted. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but it became clear once I tried drumming again.

I thought, “Alright, maybe I can’t do these intensely physical hobbies anymore, but surely I can still play drums, right?” So, I got myself a drum set and thought I could jump right back in. Turns out, I’m terrible at drumming now too! Here I was again, faced with another choice: Do I wallow in misery because I can’t meet my ego’s expectations, or do I accept my circumstances and move on?

This situation is different from the last one. Last time, my abilities were lost to an injury; I couldn’t go back. I had to let go. In this case, I can keep practicing and eventually get good enough to satisfy my ego if I really want to. But is that what I actually want? Do I really want to keep feeding my ego? In that moment, I realized that the relief I felt after letting go of martial arts and skateboarding was because I no longer felt the need to strive for something to be happy.

First of all, I don’t need to be happy. The need for happiness is an expectation imposed by my ego. It convinced me that happiness is good because it feels good, while sadness is bad because it feels bad. Therefore, I should always try to be happy. However, I found that neither of these emotions is inherently good or bad; it is when they are felt in excess that they become problematic.

Being in a steady state right down the middle is the most peaceful place to be. When I’m sad, I want to increase my happiness. When I feel happy, I fear losing that sense of happiness (like when I injured both knees and lost two-thirds of my hobbies). But if I remain centered, I am neither in pain nor do I fear losing anything. I’m not talking about apathy. Apathy is defined as a lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern. I’m referring to a state of peace and harmony within oneself.

Second, I don’t need to do anything to be in this state of peace. My ego tries to convince me that I must achieve specific accomplishments to qualify for happiness. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with pursuing goals, making achievements a mandatory condition for happiness can be self-sabotaging. If practicing martial arts the way my ego demands is necessary for me to be happy, I will never be happy again because I physically can’t do it anymore. Realizing that I can experience freedom and peace by letting go of such requirements opened up a new world of tranquility for me.

These lessons can be applied to every aspect of my life from now on. Impressing others and seeking sensory pleasures are simply requirements imposed by my ego. I don’t need to play drums for people to like me; I don’t even need people to like me! I don’t need to play video games or scroll through memes on Instagram to be happy. I don’t need to eat pizza and ice cream to find joy. This is all an illusion. I am already at peace. All is one.