Letting Go

The current knows the way, even when we don’t.

I’ve been working on letting go of things from my past that no longer serve me. This has been a long, ongoing process over the years, but recently, it’s accelerated, and it feels like a complete rebirth. Relationships that don’t resonate anymore, hobbies that no longer bring me joy, and clothes that no longer feel like “me” are gradually falling away. The hardest part, though, has been releasing the personality traits I developed in response to my environment—traits that once served me but now hinder my full expression.

Even though I’ve welcomed this process and have started over in many areas of my life before, it’s still a frightening experience to let go of the familiar for the unknown. Having my dreams reflect these changes and act as an inner compass has been invaluable, helping me gain clarity and process these emotions.

Earlier this year, as I navigated these changes, I had a dream:

I’m with a friend at a harbor, waiting for a tour to take us out on the river. My friend suggests we lie on a raft anchored nearby. I follow her, only realizing she must have untied the knot when we start drifting. We’re moving slowly, and I feel calm as I lie on my back, enjoying the sun. I briefly wonder if we should have waited for the rest of the group, but my reverie is interrupted when we’re caught in a strong current. I panic and start paddling against it, thinking we need to get back to shore.

As I paddle frantically, I notice other people peacefully floating along—some listening to music, others reading. Meanwhile, I’m panicking. As I approach the shore, ambulances block my path. Someone tells me I need to find another way. After much effort, I manage to return to the group. No one seems concerned about my absence, and I realize I may have been overreacting.

This dream beautifully illustrated how, at first, I felt at peace with surrendering to the current, but as soon as the current became strong and I lost control, panic set in. The peaceful strangers drifting along reminded me that there was no need to fight the current—it wasn’t dangerous. Yet, I resisted, fighting to return to the shore, to safety, even though the struggle was much harder than simply going with the flow. In the end, I realized that no one else was concerned, and I was never truly in danger.

The dream revealed to me that, while I was intellectually on board with letting go and allowing life to take me where it wanted, deep down, my emotions hadn’t caught up. I was still clinging to control, panicking in the face of uncertainty. If I had just surrendered, the process would have been much easier.

Months later, as we entered the new moon in September—a time symbolizing fresh starts—I had another dream on the same theme, but my reaction was very different.

I’m in a small, bright room with a large window on the back wall. Below the window is a bed made with the most exquisite white sheets and emerald green blankets. I admire how luxurious it looks. Then, a small wave flows through the window, washing over the bed. I rush to pull the blankets away, but another, bigger wave follows, and soon the room is flooded up to my knees. I don’t feel scared, but I worry about the things that could be damaged. I urge my friend to go out into the hall so I can pass her anything I can salvage. She moves slowly, and I think to myself, “Whatever, everything’s already soaked anyway.”

I step into the hallway, also flooded. I see my childhood journals floating in the water, and I’m overwhelmed with grief. I pick one up, surprised to find the ink still intact despite the salty stains.

It dawns on me that I haven’t actually lost anything—everything has just been washed clean, ready for a new beginning.

In this dream, I no longer felt threatened by the waves. Instead, I felt a sense of loss for the past, for the things I feared I’d have to let go of. But the calm demeanor of my companion once again reassured me that there was nothing to fear. And when I picked up my journal, still intact, I realized that I wasn’t losing anything. I was allowing the old to be cleansed, and if it was still meaningful, it would come with me into this new chapter of my life.

These dreams have taught me that letting go doesn’t mean losing what’s important—it means making space for what truly matters. Sometimes, the things we fear losing the most are the very things that are meant to stay with us, only in a new form, cleansed and renewed. Sometimes they’re jut not meant to be. But regardless, letting go is not about surrendering to loss; it’s about trusting the flow of life to carry us toward something even greater.

I believe we all face moments where the familiar feels safer, even when it no longer serves us. We hold on, out of fear or habit, but deep down, we know we need to let go in order to grow. These dreams have reminded me that the process is never about giving up who we are—it’s about shedding what we no longer need, so we can step into who we’re meant to become.

So if there’s something in your life that no longer feels right, don’t be afraid to let go. Trust that what’s meant for you will find its way back, in a way that’s even better than before. Sometimes, the current knows the way, even when we don’t.