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Every year, for almost the last fifteen years, I have written a paragraph about what the year taught me. This year, I learned the most beautiful theory of life—the art of letting go.

But before speaking about the art of letting go, I must speak about the stubbornness of holding on.

Almost three years ago, right after my grandmother’s death, I was going through a phase of deep agony. To cope with it, I went for counseling. When I rewind those sessions, there is one answer I clearly remember giving the therapist: I am extremely proud of the people in my life. I haven’t lost a single friend or relative. I have put in a lot of effort to make sure they stay in my circle.

I don’t remember her response, but that answer stayed with me. It became the key to a question I didn’t know I was searching for. I believed that if I could find that question, I could drill deeper into the darkest fears of my mind.

During a flight back from Copenhagen to Bangalore, I was looking out of the window, watching the sunset—the rays, the beauty of nature. And suddenly, the question echoed within me:

What is your biggest fear?

The answer came instantly. My biggest fear was losing people.

I didn’t need to revisit my past to understand that. Solitude gave me the answer.

Before reaching the realization, I reflected on the efforts I had made to preserve the people in my life. I made sure I called them when I was away. I made sure I was present whenever they needed me. I supported them emotionally and financially whenever I could. In return, I expected them to stay in my life—within that closest circle.

I visualized a human shield of love surrounding me. I felt smart. I felt lucky. I believed I had created a perfect atmosphere.

Then I woke up from that dream.

I couldn’t see anyone.

I realized that phone calls, shared Instagram reels, or financial help could not hold people together. I asked myself—why? Why couldn’t they stay? Why wasn’t I in their list? How could they move away so easily? Why did some reach out only when they needed support?

That’s when I stopped revisiting people and started revisiting myself.

Did I ever do anything without expecting something in return? When I looked into their eyes, was I truly seeing them—or was I searching for my own reflection? I’m not entirely sure, but I believe I was mostly looking for myself.

I wanted attachment. Affection. Appreciation.

When I look back at the last thirty-five years of my life, I see many faces who walked alongside me. Some revisit. Others disappear. My doors were always open, but in return, I expected a call to their heart. I expected permanence. I believed the threads of affection would last forever.

They didn’t.

And the problem wasn’t with them. It was with me.

I have met incredible human beings—some I met at the age of six, others just two years ago. I’m not talking about romance, friendship, or blood relations alone. I’m talking about being human—about emotional connections with people, animals, and even the universe.

I read How to Win Friends and Influence People, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, and How to Talk to Anyone. I applied the techniques to build relationships. But it didn’t work the way I expected. Some people used me. Some felt I was using them.

And the truth is—both were right.

The problem wasn’t people. It was how I defined relationships and the effort and energy I spent trying to hold on to them.

I now believe that every life we encounter in our journey passes some form of energy—some form of affection. To truly feel it, all we need to do is not get attached to it. Let it come. Let it stay if it wants. Let it go if it needs to.

Let me practice detachment within attachment.

Dear butterflies, I was chasing you to add beauty and meaning to my life. Not anymore. I am busy creating a garden. I don’t own anything.

Let me dance in my garden and find my rhythm. Let me sing my own songs; eventually, let me find and rebuild myself. There was a time when I wanted to make sure my footprints were marked on all the travels I had made, but now I realize I want to enjoy the journey without hurting anyone.

Let it go, and let me go…