Happy Halloween, friends!
As I grow older wiser (yes, wiser, I don’t like using the word “older” hehe), I’m starting to realize that it’s not ghosts or monsters that haunt me anymore. The real terror is finding myself stuck in the grip of complacency, anchored to a place that no longer aligns with my path. Staying the same, it turns out, is far scarier than any jump scare. This can look like:
- Remaining in environments that stifle your growth, where your creativity feels like rebellion, and expressing yourself fully makes you feel like an outsider.
- Clinging to relationships—be they platonic, romantic, or even familial—that can’t or won’t accept the real you, leaving you feeling inadequate, unworthy, or small.
- Settling for any place—be it physical, emotional, or mental—that you’ve simply outgrown, even if it once felt like home.
In the spirit of Halloween, I want this post to be about shedding old skins, casting off lingering doubts, and breaking free from what no longer fits. Because change might be uncomfortable, but staying stagnant? That’s terrifying.
This past weekend, I found myself surrounded by the kind of beauty that only the crisp air of autumn can offer—a canvas of orange, red, and golden leaves, each tree standing as a silent poem about change. I was camping in the woods, where laughter echoed between the trees, and the warmth of camaraderie crackled around the fire. It was the kind of trip that fills your heart, while also making you aware of the cracks that still linger beneath the surface—like the tender ache of an old bruise.
Our homey campsite!
In the midst of it all, I found myself reflecting on the art of letting go. You see, the leaves didn’t all fall at once; they released their hold gently, one by one, like a slow exhale. I watched them drift to the ground in a simple, quiet process—unrushed, undramatic, and entirely natural. It was a soft reminder that change and release don’t arrive as sudden events but unfold like a season. Letting go, I realized, is not a single moment but a series of small surrenders, each as necessary as the last.
Just like the trees, we must learn to embrace the process of change—not as something to control, but as something to fully experience. Each falling leaf isn’t merely a loss; it’s also a sign of readiness, a quiet preparation for renewal when the time is right.
Looking up while sitting on my hammock chair allowed me to reflect on all of these thoughts.
For me, the idea of letting go has always been tangled with grief—a hollow ache that comes when those we love drift away, whether by choice, circumstance, or the relentless passage of time. Last year, I felt this loss sharply, a full-body heartbreak that swept over me just days after finalizing plans for a camping trip meant to celebrate a bond I thought would last. The change was sudden, like a gust of wind that strips a tree bare, all at once.
And yet, this past weekend, I found myself by the fire again, surrounded by friends who had chosen to be there—friends who share the same love for the outdoors, camping, and connection. I knew old wounds would resurface, but I was ready this time, prepared to meet those thoughts with grace. And as I sat among these people, my heart felt held, not in spite of the past, but alongside it. I began to understand that letting go isn’t about erasing memories; it’s about releasing them—one emotion, one moment, one tear at a time. It’s not forgetting but making space, gradually, for new growth to come.
Although it was cold, all these wonderful people warmed my heart!
But nature, in all its wisdom, never rushes the process. Trees let go of their leaves because they must—to conserve energy for the long winter ahead, to make space for new growth when spring returns. It’s the same with us . Our hearts release old versions of ourselves, past places, experiences, people, and even cherished things, not because they were meaningless, but because the season has shifted. Growth needs room to stretch. Often, we cling to what’s familiar, fearing that letting go means losing a part of ourselves. But, in truth, it’s a path to discovering a deeper part of who we are—one that’s resilient, wise, and grounded, like the roots that anchor a tree.
As I watched the leaves fall, I whispered quietly to myself: “See, Liezl, you’re doing it too. You’re letting go, even if some days don’t quite feel like it yet. Each thought, each memory drifting through your mind is like a leaf detaching from a branch. You don’t have to force it; just allow it.” I took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs, feeling the present moment wrap around me like a warm blanket. This was real. This was mine. I was rooted in a life that continues to grow, even amidst the echoes of what was lost.
We all collectively brought decorations for our group camping trip. At night we threw a halloween rave!
So, dear reader, let nature be your guide through the eerie terrain of change. Remember, grief, transformation, and letting go are not sudden, spine-chilling endings, but a slow, whispering process of release. Just as the trees shed their leaves without a second thought, allow yourself to let go of what no longer serves you. It may feel unsettling, like stepping into a dark forest where shadows shift and shapes seem to lurk. But know this: beneath it all, your roots are growing deeper, preparing you for whatever winter lies ahead.
And it’s okay if your heart still aches, if tears still fall, or if old memories come creeping in like ghosts in the night. That’s part of the journey—part of becoming who you’re meant to be. So don’t be afraid of what haunts you; let it teach you, let it transform you. For the scariest thing isn’t the unknown or the shadows of what was, but staying the same when there’s so much more of you to uncover.
This was me en-route to the camp site! Green Dragon may have had their own adventure to tell, too, hehehehe!
With lots and lots and lots and lots of love and light,
Zel