How Letting Go Can Make Room for a Bigger Life
Sometimes moving forward isn’t about adding more. It’s about releasing what no longer fits.
September feels like an in-between month.
Summer hasn’t quite released us, especially here in Atlanta, but autumn is beginning to make itself known. The days grow a little shorter. The light begins to change. Nature starts preparing for a season of contraction and release.
In Chinese Five Element theory, late summer is associated with Earth, with grounding, nourishment, and returning to center. As we move toward autumn and the Metal element, the energy begins to shift toward refinement, contraction, and letting go.
Maybe we need seasons like that, too.
We spend so much of our lives accumulating. We collect possessions, responsibilities, relationships, accomplishments, identities, habits, beliefs, expectations, and plenty of things we never consciously chose in the first place.
Eventually, we may discover that moving forward doesn't require another goal, another commitment, another self-improvement project, or another thing to squeeze into an already crowded life.
Sometimes we need less.
Sometimes the reason you want to leave disappears
Years ago, I was working for a nonprofit when a new supervisor came aboard and began making organization-wide changes. Employees were unhappy. Most of our team was gutted. I was miserable.
Her arrival finally pushed me to consider something I'd been thinking about for a while: leaving the nonprofit world and moving into tech.
I decided the quickest way to make the change was also the scariest. I would quit my job and attend a three-month coding bootcamp.
I made the arrangements. I committed to the program. I prepared my resignation letter.
Then, just as I was ready to turn it in, my supervisor resigned.
Well, crap.
The person who had made my job miserable was leaving. I could stay. The immediate problem was about to disappear.
But something more important had already happened.
I'd admitted to myself that I wanted something different.
Her presence may have made staying uncomfortable enough to get my attention, but her departure didn't suddenly make my old life the life I wanted. I knew I'd been comfortable for too long. I wanted to learn something new, explore another field, and see what else might be possible.
So I handed in my resignation anyway and prepared for a new chapter.
Sometimes letting go isn't about escaping something terrible.
Sometimes it's simply recognizing that something has finished being right for us.
We’re taught that a bigger life requires more
More money. More accomplishments. More responsibility. More possessions. More friends. More experiences. More square footage. More followers. More muscle. More productivity.
Even our attempts to improve ourselves tend to involve addition.
Add a morning routine. Add a workout. Add supplements. Add meditation. Add networking. Add a side hustle. Add another app to help us manage all the things we've already added.
As I've gotten older, I've become much more interested in subtraction.
I don't need as many material possessions to make me happy. But I've also noticed the effects of other kinds of clutter.
My mind can become cluttered with ideas and worries. My schedule can become crowded with tasks and obligations. Even my social life can become filled with relationships that were meaningful for a particular season but no longer offer much opportunity for either of us to grow.
I like living a lean life.
Having more literal and figurative space gives me room to rest, dream, breathe, and show up more fully for the people and things that matter to me.
That's not making my life smaller.
It's deciding what deserves to occupy it.
Gay men get our own special list of things we’re supposed to want
As a gay man, I'm surrounded by images of what a successful gay life is supposed to look like.
Apparently, when I'm not at the gym pumping iron to develop the body of Adonis, I should be working my way toward a high-profile C-suite job. After work, I can swing by my high-rise condo and change into something designer, casual and chic, yet conveniently snug enough to display the results of all that pumping iron.
Then I'll meet friends for cocktails with my equally fabulous boyfriend on my arm. We'll socialize with other impossibly attractive, wealthy, successful men before heading to a gourmet restaurant.
Presumably, I'll still have enough energy afterward for a sex life impressive enough to monetize on OnlyFans.
That's not the life I want.
I'm 58. I still want to look my best, but I'm much more interested in maintaining my health and longevity so I can travel and remain active for as long as possible.
Doing meaningful work that helps other people matters more to me than having a corner office or earning a six-figure salary.
I'm as happy eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with friends after a hike as I am catching up over dinner at a restaurant.
Experiences matter more than positions.
Shared laughter matters more than keeping up with the Joneses.
Interestingly, some of those impossibly accomplished “A Gays” still find their way into my life. I've been invited to the parties and dinners. I've learned that when what matters most to the people in the room holds little interest for me, those gatherings can feel surprisingly heavy.
Meeting a friend at a coffee shop or going for a bike ride?
That feels like freedom.
Part of becoming more fully ourselves is recognizing which definitions of success we actually chose and which ones we inherited.
Your body may know when you’re carrying too much
I can tell when my life has become too full because my body tells me.
I feel heavy and sluggish. It's harder to focus because there's so much I have to do and not enough time for what I actually want to do.
There's a clenching feeling.
Sometimes my mind races. Other times it feels dull. I move less. I crave foods that aren't particularly nourishing. Eventually, I begin feeling as though I'm chained to my own life.
And then I remember:
Oh, that's right. I'm the one in charge of my life!
We can't eliminate every responsibility. There are bills to pay, people to care for, homes to maintain, and promises worth keeping.
But sometimes we've been carrying something for so long that we've stopped asking whether we still need to carry it.
Our bodies may notice before our minds do.
Letting go isn’t the same as giving up
To me, giving up means quitting something I still want because I've become discouraged or reached a place where I feel powerless.
Letting go feels different.
Letting go happens from a more grounded place. I can see the situation clearly enough to recognize what I'm releasing and, just as importantly, what I gain by releasing it.
That might mean leaving a job.
It might mean declining an invitation.
It could mean ending a responsibility you've outgrown, delegating something someone else can do, or finally admitting that a dream you had at 25 isn't particularly interesting to you at 55.
It could even mean releasing an old belief about who you're supposed to be.
That's not failure.
Sometimes it's discernment.
We shed identities, too
Major life transitions remind me of molting.
We shed skins that once protected us or helped us move through a particular stage of life. Yet unlike other creatures that molt, humans have a peculiar habit of trying to crawl back into the discarded skin.
We retire and keep measuring our worth by our former job title.
We end a relationship and continue defining ourselves through it.
We come out but carry the rules we learned while hiding.
We age while judging ourselves against the person we were at 30.
We change careers but worry that everything we accomplished before the change was wasted.
What if the old skin did exactly what it needed to do?
And what if we don't need it anymore?
I find myself in an interesting in-between place at 58. About half of my friends are older gay men and half are younger. The older men remind me that some of the concerns of later life aren't upon me yet. The younger ones remind me that many things I worried about at their age simply don't matter to me anymore.
I'm not ready for retirement, but I'm also not interested in climbing a corporate ladder.
And despite all the messages gay men receive about fearing age, I've discovered that getting older isn't turning out quite the way I was warned it would.
I'm interested in taking care of myself. Well-being matters to me. I want my body to support an active, engaged life for as long as possible.
Most importantly, I'm increasingly aware that much of the quality of my life is in my hands, shaped by the choices I make and the intentions I set.
Maybe the question isn't, How do I stay who I was?
Maybe it's, Who am I becoming now?
Our homes carry old skins, too
I've become more sensitive to my physical environment as I've gotten older.
Every year I seem to release more of what I've collected: books I know I'll never read, clothes I don't wear, exercise equipment I no longer use, and all the miscellaneous clutter modern life seems capable of generating spontaneously.
Then there are the more complicated things.
Papers. Photographs. Belongings from earlier periods of my life. Reminders of people who are no longer part of it. Objects connected to interests or philosophies I no longer share.
I've learned to keep the things I use most where I can easily see and reach them. Things I use less frequently can move higher, lower, or out of sight. Things I don't use at all get a harder question:
Why am I still giving this space?
I want what surrounds me to be useful, beautiful, or inspiring.
The result isn't an empty home. It's an intentional one.
I've curated a living space where what surrounds me nourishes and supports who I am now and who I'm becoming.
That's one of the things I appreciate about feng shui. Making space isn't simply about getting rid of stuff.
We also ask what we want to make room for.
The same is true of our minds. I can choose thoughts that support the person I'm becoming instead of letting my brain run around like a free-range chicken.
At least some of the time.
Subtraction can start very small
You don't need to quit your job, sell your house, or fill a dumpster before lunch.
Subtraction can be an experiment.
Maybe tonight you replace a beer with water or a soda with unsweetened tea.
Maybe you turn off the television after an hour and get a little more sleep.
Maybe you subtract takeout and make dinner at home.
Maybe you walk somewhere you'd normally drive.
Maybe you say no to one social obligation.
Maybe you replace your usual solitary run with a hike where you can catch up with friends.
Maybe you delegate a household chore or decide it's worth paying someone else to do it.
Maybe you simply put down your phone and take one slow breath before making the next call.
None of those choices will reinvent your life overnight.
That's the point.
They give you an opportunity to notice what happens when you make a little room.
What becomes possible in the space you create?
As we get older, many of us begin shaking loose beliefs about our identities that we've carried for decades.
There are a surprising number of have-tos hiding in our heads.
Some came from our families. Some came from religion, school, work, culture, relationships, or ideas about masculinity. Gay and bisexual men may carry additional expectations about what we're allowed to desire, how we're supposed to look, how sexual we're supposed to be—or not be—and what a respectable or successful life is supposed to resemble.
Then life refuses to follow the script.
A career doesn't turn out the way we expected.
Retirement comes earlier than planned.
A relationship ends.
We find ourselves single.
Our bodies change.
We come out at 45, 60, or 75 and realize that authenticity doesn't come with an instruction manual for what happens next.
Or perhaps nothing dramatic happens at all. We simply wake up one morning and realize the life that fit us beautifully at 40 feels tight at 60.
That doesn't necessarily mean something has gone wrong.
It may mean we're ready to molt.
When we've spent years making ourselves small to please other people or avoid rejection, life can become rigid. It can feel like a prison.
Removing those old constraints can reveal that we're far more nimble and alive than we imagined.
There is no age at which we're required to stop becoming.
There is no expiration date on authenticity, friendship, purpose, pleasure, curiosity, health, creativity, intimacy, or joy.
In a sense, perhaps we all continue coming out as we get older.
We come out of careers. Relationships. Roles. Expectations. Old definitions of masculinity. Old ideas about our bodies. Old definitions of success.
And each time, we get another opportunity to meet the person who's been living underneath all those layers.
A little subtraction experiment
You don't have to decide today what the next chapter of your life should look like.
Instead, get curious about what's occupying the life you already have.
Take a few quiet minutes and complete these four sentences:
Something I can release:
What am I carrying that no longer supports who I am or who I'm becoming?
Something I can delegate:
What am I doing simply because I've always done it or believe I should?
Something I can stop believing:
What old story, expectation, or have-to have I outgrown?
Something I want to make room for:
If I created a little more physical, mental, emotional, or social space, what would I want to grow there?
Pay attention to what happens in your body as you answer.
You don't have to act on everything you discover.
For now, just notice.
A bigger life doesn’t always require more
Nature doesn't seem particularly troubled by the need to release what has finished serving its purpose.
Seasons change. Leaves fall. Old growth becomes nourishment for what comes next.
Maybe our lives can work that way, too.
Letting go doesn't have to mean making ourselves or our lives smaller.
Subtraction creates more room for bigger lives.
It creates richer soil where our dreams can be nurtured and grow.
And perhaps that's one of the gifts of getting older: realizing we don't have to keep everything we've accumulated along the way.
We get to choose what comes with us.
And we get to decide what we'd like to grow next.
If you're navigating a transition and wondering what still belongs in your life and what you're ready to release, coaching can give you space to explore what matters now. You can contact me directly or schedule a Discovery Call to learn more about working together.
Want to keep exploring? I also write Wayfinding for the Directionally Challenged, my Substack about finding your way when the old map no longer fits. You can subscribe and continue the journey with me there.