(RE)lease

When we finally choose to release, we often understand it as letting go of something. We release a person, a situation, an expectation, a version of ourselves, or something we have been carrying for far too long. But what if we played with the word a little? What if release could offer us a different perspective on what it actually means to let go?

When we reach a point of overwhelm and everything begins to feel like too much, we can find ourselves carrying what feels like the weight of the world. We carry responsibilities, emotions, memories, relationships, expectations, fears, and stories about who we are supposed to be. Eventually, we become exhausted by the sheer amount of things we are holding. We want to put everything down. We want to let it all go. And yet, letting go is rarely as simple as deciding to release something.

There is often an inherent attachment to the things we have been carrying for so long. The longer we hold something, the more familiar it becomes. Eventually, we can begin to confuse familiarity with identity. We start to believe that what we carry is part of who we are simply because it has been with us for so long. But what if it isn't?

Think about a place you rent. You can live somewhere for years. You can decorate it, create memories there, build routines around it, and make it feel like home. But eventually, the lease ends. The space was yours to inhabit for a period of time, but it was never truly you. You were simply entrusted with it for as long as you needed it.

Maybe the things we carry in life are not so different. The experiences we have, the relationships we enter, the identities we take on, the lessons we learn, and even the pain we experience can all have their own seasons. They can belong to us for a time without belonging to us forever. When we begin to understand that everything in our lives is temporary, we can create a little more space between what we experience and who we are. And perhaps that space is where freedom begins.

When we accept things as they are, rather than constantly fighting against what they were or what we wish they could become, it becomes easier to appreciate them for what they brought into our lives. We can recognize their value without needing to make them permanent. We can allow something to serve its purpose during the time that it is here, and when that purpose has been fulfilled, we can allow it to move on.

This doesn't mean that everything is easy to release. Some things leave an imprint. Some experiences change us. Some relationships become part of our story in ways we can never completely erase. But maybe the goal was never to erase them in the first place. Maybe the goal is to transform our relationship to them.

This is where my fascination with words led me to release. What happens when we separate the word into re and lease? Re can suggest doing something again, while a lease is an agreement to occupy or use something for a period of time. And suddenly, re-lease becomes an interesting way of looking at everything we have been holding onto.

Perhaps the things we need to release are things we were only ever meant to lease.

We were given these experiences for a period of time. We were meant to inhabit them, learn from them, feel them, experience them, and allow them to shape us. They gave us knowledge. They gave us memories. They gave us perspective. They may have even given us parts of ourselves we didn't know existed. But just because something served us doesn't mean we have to keep carrying it forever.

There comes a point when the lease is simply up. And when that happens, we can choose to re-lease it. We can return it to the world in whatever form feels right. Sometimes that means simply letting something go. Sometimes it means taking the lesson and leaving the pain behind. Sometimes it means turning an experience into art, wisdom, compassion, boundaries, a new perspective, or something that can help someone else. We don't always get to choose what happens to us, but we can choose what we do with what happens to us.

This is where letting go becomes less about loss and more about transformation.

We aren't necessarily throwing something away. We are acknowledging that it had a purpose, that its time with us mattered, and that we no longer need to carry it in the same way. We can thank it for what it taught us and allow it to become something else.

Maybe that is the beauty of releasing: understanding that nothing has to stay exactly as it was to remain meaningful. The experiences we have don't disappear simply because we stop carrying them. They become part of the person we are becoming. And when we stop gripping so tightly to what has already served its purpose, we create room for whatever is waiting to meet us next.

So perhaps release doesn't have to mean losing something. Perhaps it can mean recognizing the lease. Recognizing what we were meant to hold, what we were meant to learn, and when it is finally time to hand it back. Not because it didn't matter. But because it did.

Z.