Letting Go

John Bradley "JJ" Jackson

13 Dec 2025 • 4 min read

"You have to accept the fact that sometimes you are the pigeon, and sometimes you are the statue."

- Claude Chabrol

Transitions, retirement in my case, sneak up on you in ways no amount of planning can fully prepare you for. The truth is I have had a hard time saying the "R" word.

One day you still have a rhythm. A place to be. People who expect you. Emails that arrive whether you want them or not. Then, gradually or all at once, that structure falls away. No office. No syllabus. No standing meeting. Fewer Zoom calls. More quiet. More choice.

At first, that quiet can feel like freedom. And then, if you’re honest, it can also feel unsettling. Empty.

I spent decades wrapped in a professional identity. Teacher. Advisor. Colleague. Mentor. Boss. Titles I never clung to consciously, yet somehow assumed would always be there. When that routine dissolved, I realized how tightly I had been holding on to an idea of how life was “supposed” to look at this stage. Productive. Relevant. Scheduled. Needed.

Whoops.

Letting go, I’m learning, is not about disengaging from life. It’s about loosening your grip on things that no longer fit.

For some time, my mind kept whispering familiar messages. I should still be busier. I should still be more involved. I should be more certain about what comes next. I should miss it more, or maybe less. I should already have a plan.

People have asked me, "So JJ. What comes next?"

My response has been a shrug of my shoulders. You see, I have no plan. Instead, I just started walking the new path. Discovery ahead.

What I’ve come to see is that retirement isn’t an ending. It’s a subtraction. And subtraction creates space.

Space to breathe without rushing. Space to notice which relationships remain when they’re no longer reinforced by proximity or obligation. Space to explore curiosity rather than competency. Space to decide what is worth a "yes" and just what now deserves a "no". After decades of saying yes, can do and you can count on me, I now say nope. Nada. Pass. Bye. Nay. Not anymore. No way.

Ironically, just as my professional routine dissolved, my LinkedIn page exploded. New messages. New inquiries. New “opportunities.” Almost all of them are of no interest to me. Bots? Spam? Phishing? Maybe. Or simply echoes of an old version of my life that the social media algorithm hasn’t caught up with yet. The irony isn’t lost on me. Just when I no longer need to chase relevance, it comes knocking louder than ever.

Subtraction remains the operative word. I did not know that at first but I now see why stopping, cutting, removing, and turning away is now relevant.

This chapter requires saying "no" to things that don’t provide fulfillment or meaning. That includes work that no longer aligns with my values and commitments. Goodbye to meaningless conversations that drain more than they give.

It also means, at times, saying goodbye to people who don’t fit this new chapter. I know that may sound harsh. But life is short, and time is no longer something I’m willing to spend by default.

I have no time for rude or insincere or shallow or selfish people. Be gone I say. Control. Alt. Delete.

One of the most helpful shifts for me has been learning to let things be as they are without immediately trying to shape them. When I catch myself wanting to control outcomes, define the future, or recreate old structures simply because they feel familiar, I pause. I breathe. I let the moment stand on its own.

There is something deeply calming about allowing life to unfold without interference.

That includes other people. Former colleagues. Friends whose paths are diverging. New acquaintances who don’t yet know my backstory. I don’t need to manage how these relationships evolve. I don’t need to force continuity where change is natural. I can appreciate what was without insisting it remain exactly the same.

Another realization has been accepting that not everything needs to be anchored. For years, my professional life provided clear lanes and expectations. In my new chapter, those markers fade. At first, that can feel like uncertainty. But uncertainty doesn’t have to mean instability. It can also mean openness. Improvisation.

Some days, the stories creep back in. The story that relevance requires visibility. The story that slowing down equals fading out. The story that if I say no too often, I’ll miss something essential.

When that happens, I remind myself that these are just stories. Useful once, perhaps, but not absolute truths. I ask myself what else might be true. That relevance can be quieter. That contribution can be selective. That saying no is sometimes the most honest form of self-respect.

Not everything deserves my energy anymore. Not every invitation aligns with who I am becoming. Letting go, I’ve learned, often shows up as a polite but firm no. No to new commitment. No to nostalgia masquerading as obligation. No to carrying concerns longer than they need to be carried.

What has surprised me most is how much courage is required to let go well. Faith that you are enough without proving it daily. Courage that intuition can guide you even without formal roles or titles. Courage that the next chapter doesn’t need to look impressive to be meaningful.

I am still exploring. Still experimenting. Still learning when to lean in and when to step back. This chapter is less about accumulation and more about alignment. Less about recognition and more about resonance.

And there is joy here. A quieter joy, perhaps, but a steadier one. Joy in choosing how I spend my time. Joy in conversations that aren’t transactional. Joy in mornings that unfold without urgency. Joy in knowing that I don’t have to hold on so tightly anymore.

If you are standing at a similar threshold, unsure whether to grip or release, know this: letting go doesn’t diminish you. It reveals you.

You are allowed to redefine success. Success is such vague term anyway. (Note to self: stop using the word success. It is very old school.)

You are allowed to say no. And you are allowed to celebrate progress that no one else can see.

This is not the end of the story. It’s the part where you finally get to write without an outline. No script. Kind of like standup comedy.

P.S. I am carrying forward some relics from my past which now need to be revisited and nourished. Reading. Writing. Music. Bowling. Etc.