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We are the aliveness that has no form, no center, no identity. To be unstuck and free is to align ourselves with the aliveness that we are—to feel it, dance with it, be it, and let it carry us.

59. Be Willing to Let Go When the Passion Fades

Just because you have a talent for something doesn’t mean you are obliged to do it forever or that the form can’t change. I’m speaking of letting go when something you love starts to become a burden or is drained of its life-giving spark. I’ll never forget that wrenching moment when I gazed around my music studio at Ohio University for the last time, ran my fingers over the keys of the Steinway grand pianos, closed the door, and left what I had once thought would be my life’s work as a piano instructor. I was done.

I walked down the corridor, left the music building, and crossed a side street to the counseling department, where I would soon be a full-time student. My new “office” was one of four desks set in a cramped space with no windows, but it was part of a whole new world about to open to me as a teaching assistant in the counseling department.

There comes a moment when we know we’re done, finished—something has burned to ashes all on its own. Our challenge is to let it go even if it means giving up status, security, the familiar, or winning the race.

Doug Swingley won the Iditarod four times and appeared likely to win a fifth. The Iditarod is an Alaskan sled dog race and the gold standard for mushing; it takes a minimum of nine days to complete. Doug, who loved dog sledding, and is an incredibly talented musher, decided to back away when the experience no longer brought joy to him. In spite of perfect snow and an excellent team of dogs, he had held back his competitive instincts, slowed down the pace, and fell to the back of the competitors as his way of bowing out of the race. He dropped from first to fortieth, took thirteen days instead of nine, and won just over a thousand dollars—after his previous win of over sixty-two thousand.

“I have never gotten to run a fun Iditarod just to relax and visit with the people,” he was quoted as saying in the local paper, The Missoulian. He wanted to take a victory lap and enjoy the scenery with long breaks along the way. “I’m having a blast,” he continued. “The leisurely pace has made it feel like the first time up the trail. The fact that I’m tired of competing in the Iditarod has to do with a lot of things. The media, remarks from my competitors, Alaskans’ snide remarks. I don’t enjoy that part at all. So the easiest thing is to back away from it.” Along with the newspaper article was a marvelous picture of Doug standing in the snow alongside his sled dogs, radiating happiness. He had won the bigger race—he stayed true to himself.

It may seem simple to say that we should stop pushing ourselves if we don’t enjoy the race any longer. But why not? It may hit a nerve inside that goes counter to the puritan ethics that extol hard work, suffering, security, and virtue. Or it may go against the inflated ego that says going for the gold, winning, and getting accolades make us important. But imagine if you left the ghost of your conditioning behind and allowed yourself to come into current time and resonate with your whole being so you can make decisions from a place inside that feels like fresh air. From this place it’s easy to step out of the race, slow down, watch the scenery, and talk to the people along the trail.

I’ve interviewed people who stepped down from high status jobs, left teaching, or got out of the game when it no longer felt good. Stephen Wolinsky stopped teaching introductory workshops a few years ago. When asked why, he answered simply, “I’m done.” When pressed for reasons, he said, “I could make up a story, but the truth is, I’m just done, nothing in me wants to do it anymore.”

When something that once felt fun, fresh, exciting, and new fades, and nothing revitalizes it, we are wise to let it go. To keep at it can feel like trying to keep a dying person alive against their will.