The F Word

#273

Deciding to Let Go

Some wrongs take longer to fade. A job lost unfairly. A betrayal. A conversation where someone dismissed you and you've replayed it a thousand times since. Years later, you're still there—same story, same emotion, same grip. And I've learned to ask myself: What does this serve me?

In my previous post (#272), I wrote about Quiet Agency—the power to choose what belongs to you: your time, your energy, your boundaries, without needing permission or fanfare. Forgiveness is another form of that. It's deciding whether you keep holding something someone else handed you.

The Law of the Garbage Truck

My dad once taught me the concept of "The Law of the Garbage Truck". Many people, he said, are like garbage trucks. They run around full of frustration, anger, disappointment. When they dump it on you—a harsh word, a snapped response, an unfair decision—here's what matters:

1. Don't take it personally. It's a reflection of where they are, not who you are.

2. Let it go. Smile, wave, wish them well, and move on.

3. Don't spread it. Don't let their mood become your mood at home, at work, with people you actually care about. Your emotional state is your responsibility, not theirs.

"New Choice!"

There's a game in improv called "New Choice." You play a scene one way, get a reaction, then the director calls out at any point they wish: "New Choice!" and you try a different response to the same situation. Such as: "Oh how much does this cost?" You say: "15 dollars". "New choice!" "10 pesos." "New choice!" "Umm...2 lasagnas!" This forces actors to break their habitual thought patterns, embrace spontaneity, and justify unexpected changes on the spot. 

It could even get zanier or take on a completely new direction, making a dull, boring scene way more interesting than changing just one aspect from the previous choice, like: “I'm walking my dog.” “New choice!” “This is a robbery. Give me all your money!” “New choice!” “I hate to be the one to tell you – but you're just not cut out to be an astronaut, Daniel.”

Now apply that to real life. Someone cuts you off in traffic. They honk, they gesture. In that moment, your first instinct might be: "How dare they? I'm a good driver. They're reckless. I'm going to remember this for the rest of the day."

But what if you tried a new choice? New choice one: "They're probably late for something. Maybe someone they love is in the hospital. Maybe they're having the worst day of their life. I don't know their story."

New choice two: "That had nothing to do with me. They didn't even see me. This is about their distraction, not my driving."

New choice three: "I'm safe. My car is fine. Nothing actually happened. I don't need to spend my energy on this."

Same situation. Three completely different emotional outcomes. One leaves you angry all day. One leaves you compassionate. One leaves you unbothered.

The Holy Buddha vs Louis Litt

If you've watched Suits, you know Louis Litt. Brilliant lawyer. Ambitious. But also—he seethes like no one else. He holds grudges like they're oxygen. Someone doesn't respect him? He replays it. Someone chooses Harvey over him? He carries it and lets the situation affect him all day. He's the guy who remembers every snub and every moment he wasn't chosen. And it eats him alive. 

He's miserable not because bad things happened to him, but because he won't let them go.

Now here's Buddha. Someone comes to him full of anger, hurling insults, cursing him. Instead of accepting the insult and carrying it, Buddha sits calmly and asks a question: "If someone gives you a gift and you refuse to accept it, to whom does the gift belong?"

The man answers: it stays with the giver.

Buddha smiles and says: "Exactly. Your anger is a gift. If I refuse to accept it, if I don't get insulted in return, your anger stays with you. You're the only one who becomes unhappy."

Louis would have accepted that gift. He would have taken the insult home, replayed it, seethed about it, brought it up years later. He would have made it his burden to carry.

Buddha refuses the gift. He lets it stay with the person who gave it.

It's up to you to decide whose qualities you wish to emulate.

What Happens When You Let Go

You feel lighter. Not immediately. But after you've sat with it differently enough times that the grip loosens.

I spent years replaying a career misstep that wasn't entirely my fault. Blamed myself and my choices. Blamed the person, the company, the world. Held it tight. Then after consciously and constantly trying, I started to move on. I told myself: They're not even thinking about this. I'm the only one suffering here.

So I tried a new choice. I accepted that they did what they could with what they had. I let go of the victim mentality. Thanks to that, I gained space to think about something else. To invest in truly moving forward.

That's what forgiveness is. Not excusing them. Not forgetting. It's reclaiming your energy. It's refusing their gift.

Still a Work in Progress

Some days are harder than others. Days where the same feelings and emotions bubble back up and I find it difficult to let go. Where I want to text someone and tell them exactly how they hurt me. Where the old story plays on repeat and I can't seem to find the new choice.

On those days, I write. Or I cook a new recipe, something that requires my full attention—chopping, measuring, tasting, adjusting. The focus redirects itself. My hands are busy. My mind has something else to hold onto. And by the time I'm done, the grip has loosened just enough.

I'm still learning this. Still trying. But that's the work—trying, failing, trying again. Willingness is step one.

"Like a roller in the ocean, life is motion

Move on

Like a wind that's always blowing, life is flowing

Move on

Like the sunrise in the morning, life is dawning

Move on

How I treasure every minute, being part of, being in it

With the urge to move on"

-ABBA, 1977