The Mindful Art of Letting Go

What could you do less of?

When someone asks what you could do less of, your first instinct is probably to think about tasks—the endless to-do list, the obligations piling up. But when I really sat with that question, I realized the answer wasn’t about productivity at all. It was about presence.

I could do less worrying about things I have no control over. Less living in the future, constructing anxiety in my head. Less dwelling in the past, as if repetition could change it. The real work isn’t in doing less—it’s in being more where I actually am.

This realization didn’t come easily. Not too long ago, I finally understood that living in my head about the future only brought anxiety, while living in the past changed nothing. Living in the present—that’s where the power is. I’m still learning to do this well, but the improvement has been noticeable, especially when I’m proactive about the things I can actually influence or change.

For the worries that won’t leave—the ones that keep renting space in an already full brain—I’ve found practical tools. If I’m struggling with a decision, I journal it out. If I’m uncertain about something, I research. I watch videos, ask people, inform myself. The goal is to move from anxiety to agency.

Which brings me to the next chapter of my life: the empty nest.

In a month, my son is moving 5.5 hours away to attend BCIT, and I’m genuinely excited—for him and for me. Yes, the house will be quieter. Yes, I’ll hear from him less often. Yes, there may be months between visits. But this is what we’ve been working toward, isn’t it?

He’s ready. And I’m ready because of the example I grew up with. My mother chose a different path—she had a degree but barely used it. Instead, she raised three daughters to be independent and capable, to have their own lives and careers. She showed us that a mother’s greatest gift isn’t clinging; it’s creating space for your children to become themselves.

Having my own full life—my own work, my own interests, my own relationships—keeps my mind engaged and my days rich. My son has his life. I have mine. They intersect when they do, and that’s more than enough.

So perhaps the real answer to the question is this: do less worrying about futures that haven’t happened, and more enjoying the present that’s already here. After all, this moment—right now—is the only one I actually get to live.