The Joy of Letting Go

Lately, I have been again trying to reduce the number of things I own. I try to become more and more minimalist every once in a while. It comes from a realisation that the more we hold on to stuff, the more it asks from us. Space, attention, care. Letting go, in its own way, creates space inside the mind. I minimize my stuff every once in a while and then I again feel the urge to further reduce, and then after a few months this urge pushes me even more.

Last month, I gave away many of my old work clothes. The stiff-collar shirts and neatly pressed trousers belonged to a different phase of life. I kept one pair, just in case life asks for it again, and more so because I wanted to pacify my family.

This month, I gave away a lot of my photography equipment. Old lenses, umbrellas, camera bodies. They had served me well, but I no longer used them. Keeping them felt like carrying extra weight. Fewer things means fewer distractions, and more room for what truly matters.

However, at the same time, life does not always move in one direction. Recently, my camera fell and got damaged. I had to choose between adjusting to an even older camera with limitations or buying a new one. I ended up buying a new camera. I was not entirely happy about the purchase. It felt like something I was forced into. If the old one had not broken, I would have continued using it. But perhaps this is also part of life. We let go in some places, and we accept in others.

My dream is simple. To be able to carry everything I need in just a couple of bags and still feel complete. I am far from that right now. Books still hold me. Number of my books is growing and I am running out of place to keep them. My music, which I keep in physical form, is hard to part with. And then there are a few things that carry memories, like an old candle stand from my grandmother or a slide-rule from my grandfather. These are not easy to let go of.

One of the biggest challenges is deciding where to give things away. Throwing them in the garbage does not feel right, especially when they are still usable. Selling is not easy here, as not many people share the same interests. Usually even when someone interested in buying comes, the price quoted is too low. Shipping takes time and effort. So I am learning to be patient. Maybe not everything needs to go immediately. Maybe each object will find its next place in its own time.

The ideal way to deal with old belongings is often to donate them. At first, it can feel difficult because of the money once spent on them. But the moment those things reach someone who truly needs and appreciates them, a sense of happiness follows, something difficult to describe unless one has experienced it personally. Selling old possessions for a few pennies after paying dearly for them can feel disappointing. Giving them away especially to the right person, on the other hand, feels far more meaningful. It brings a sense of joy and leaves behind the feeling that the right thing has been done. So now, I prefer to donate things rather then sell them at absurdly low prices.

In the end, this journey from birth to death is also about holding things more lightly. I now understand their impermanence and also understand the futility of hoarding stuff. A friend of mine from Haldwani often reminds me that these things are meant to serve our lives, not take control of them. It is a simple thought, but quite profound in how it makes me look at material goods. To use what I have with care, and to let it go when it no longer serves its purpose, with a hope that someone else will find a use for it then.

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