Chapter 14: A Little Letting Go Each Day

Good Ideas, Forgotten by Lunchtime

Oksana is forty-four and works as a pharmacist. Over the past year, she has read several books about Buddhist ideas, listened to talks and even attended a weekend retreat. She loves the ideas: impermanence, the second arrow, loving-kindness, equanimity. When she reads about them, she feels calm and inspired. She understands them.

The trouble is that she forgets them almost immediately. On Monday morning, she reads a chapter about letting go of grudges and feels wonderfully light. By lunchtime, a colleague has said something careless, and Oksana spends the afternoon resenting him. On Tuesday evening, she reads about the eight worldly winds. On Wednesday, a customer complains, and she is blown about all day. She knows the teachings. She just does not live them.

One evening, frustrated, she tells a friend who has practised Buddhist meditation for many years. Her friend laughs kindly. "That is normal," she says. "Knowing the teaching is like knowing how to swim from a book. You still have to get in the water every day. Not for hours. Just a little, every day." Oksana asks what that would look like. Her friend says: "Small things. In the morning, at a few moments in the day and in the evening. Do them every day, and slowly they will start to change you."

This chapter is about those small, daily practices. Throughout this book, we have explored many ideas about letting go. But ideas, on their own, rarely change our lives. What changes us is practice: small actions, repeated again and again, until they become part of how we live. The Buddhist tradition has many such practices. Here are some of the simplest, which can fit into an ordinary day.

Practice Is Small and Daily

It is easy to think of spiritual practice as something dramatic: long retreats, hours of meditation, great acts of renunciation. These have their place. But for most people, the practices that make the biggest difference are small and regular.

Think of how a path forms across a field. Nobody builds it in a day. It forms because many people walk the same way, again and again, until the grass is worn down and a path appears. The mind works in a similar way. Each time we notice clinging and let go, even a little, we wear down the grass a little more. Over time, a path forms, and letting go becomes easier and more natural.

This means that the most important thing is not how much we practise on any single day, but that we practise most days. A few minutes in the morning, a few moments during the day and a few minutes in the evening, kept up for months, will change us far more than a single intense week followed by nothing.

It also means that forgetting is part of practice. Oksana forgot the teachings by lunchtime. Everyone does. The practice is to notice that we have forgotten, without scolding ourselves, and to return. Each return is itself a small act of letting go: letting go of the idea that we should already be perfect.

It can also help to remember that daily practice does not have to feel special. On many days, a morning intention will feel ordinary, even a little dull. An evening reflection may seem to change nothing. This is normal. Like brushing our teeth, the value of a daily practice lies in its regularity, not in how it feels on any particular day. Many people only notice the effects when they look back after several months and realize that something has quietly shifted.

The Mirror

In a discourse found in the Majjhima Nikāya at number 61, the Buddha gives advice to his young son, Rāhula, who had become a novice monk. The advice is simple and practical, and it is one of the earliest descriptions in the texts of a daily practice of self-reflection.

The Buddha asks Rāhula, in my own paraphrase: what is a mirror for? Rāhula answers that it is for looking at oneself. In the same way, the Buddha says, you should look at your actions, of body, speech and mind, before you do them, while you are doing them and after you have done them.

Before acting, he advises, ask: would this action lead to harm, for myself, for others or for both? If so, do not do it. If it would lead to well-being, do it. While acting, ask the same question, and if you notice that the action is causing harm, stop. After acting, look back, and if you see that the action caused harm, acknowledge it, talk about it with a wise friend or teacher and resolve not to repeat it. If you see that it led to well-being, be glad, and continue to train.

This practice of the mirror is gentle and honest. It does not ask us to be perfect. It asks us to look. Before, during and after our actions, we pause and see what we are doing and its effects. When we see harm, we learn. When we see good, we are glad.

The mirror practice is very helpful for letting go. Often, we cling to habits of speech and action without noticing them: snapping when we are tired, criticizing when we are anxious, holding on to resentment. By looking in the mirror, before, during and after, we begin to see these habits clearly. And seeing them clearly is the first step to loosening their grip.

It is touching that this teaching was given by a father to his young son. The Buddha did not give Rāhula a long list of rules. He gave him a way of looking, a habit that would serve him throughout his life. Parents, teachers and anyone who cares for young people can borrow this approach. Instead of only telling children what is right and wrong, we can help them learn to look at their own actions and ask, simply, "Did that help or harm?"

A Lump of Salt

In a discourse called the Loṇaphala Sutta, "the lump of salt", found in the Book of the Threes of the Aṅguttara Nikāya, the Buddha uses a striking image. Here it is in my own retelling.

Imagine, the Buddha says, a person who drops a lump of salt into a small cup of water. Would the water in the cup become too salty to drink? Yes. Now imagine that the same person drops the same lump of salt into a large river. Would the river become too salty to drink? No. Why not? Because there is so much water in the river that the salt is lost in it.

The Buddha uses this image in the discourse to speak about how the results of a person's actions can affect them differently, depending on how developed their mind and heart are. A small, narrow mind is like the cup: even a small wrong can cause great suffering. A broad, well-developed mind is like the river: the same wrong is absorbed into a much larger whole.

Many teachers have drawn a practical lesson from this image. The difficulties of life, the insults, losses and disappointments, are like salt. We cannot always avoid them. But we can, through practice, enlarge the container that receives them. A narrow, tight, self-centred mind is a cup: every difficulty makes it bitter. A wide, open, kind mind is a river: the same difficulty is still there, but it does not poison everything.

How do we enlarge the container? Through the practices of this book: loving-kindness, which widens the heart toward others; generosity, which loosens our grip on what is ours; equanimity, which steadies us in the winds; reflection on impermanence, which helps us hold things lightly. Each daily practice adds a little more water.

The image also offers comfort on days when life feels very salty. If a small difficulty is making everything bitter, it may be a sign that our container has become narrow: we are tired, stressed or turned inward. On such days, the most helpful thing may not be to remove the salt, which may be impossible, but to widen the container a little: to step outside, look at the sky, call a friend, do something kind for someone else. The salt is the same. The water around it is larger.

Morning: Setting a Direction

The morning is a good time for a short practice, because it sets the tone for the day. It need not take long. Five or ten minutes is enough.

One simple morning practice is to set an intention. Before getting up, or while drinking your first cup of tea, take a few breaths and silently choose one quality you would like to practise today. It might be patience, generosity, loosening control, kindness to yourself or not taking things personally. Say it to yourself in a few words: "Today, I will try to hold things lightly," or "Today, I will practise patience with my colleagues."

Another morning practice is to reflect briefly on one of the five recollections from the third chapter, especially the fourth: everything dear to me will change. This is not meant to be gloomy. It can make the people and things in your day seem more precious, and help you hold them with open hands.

A third practice is to offer a few phrases of loving-kindness, as in the chapter on love: "May I be well. May the people I meet today be well." This can take less than a minute, and it can change how you meet people throughout the day.

Choose whichever morning practice feels most natural to you, and do it most days. You do not need to do all of them. The aim is simply to begin the day by remembering what matters to you.

During the Day: Small Openings

During the day, the challenge is remembering. Busy hours sweep us along, and we forget our intentions. A few simple habits can help.

One is the grip check. Several times a day, pause and notice your body. Are your jaw, shoulders, hands or stomach tight? If so, let them soften. As we saw in the first chapter, physical tension often reflects mental clinging. Softening the body can loosen the mind.

Another is to use everyday moments as reminders. Some people choose a particular moment, such as opening a door, waiting for a kettle or sitting down at a desk, and use it as a cue to take one breath and ask: what am I holding on to right now? Over time, these small cues bring many moments of letting go into an ordinary day.

Another is the second arrow check. When something goes wrong, pause and ask: what is the first arrow here, and what am I adding? Setting down even one second arrow in a day is real practice.

And another is a small act of giving each day. As we saw in the chapter on possessions, generosity is the simplest form of letting go. It might be a kind word, a moment of real attention, help with a task, a small gift or holding a door. Each act of giving loosens the grip of "mine".

And another is to let go of small things deliberately, as a kind of training. When the bus is late, when someone takes the last seat, when a plan changes at short notice, these small frustrations are perfect chances to practise. Each one can be met with a breath and a quiet "Let it go." These are not the great losses of life. But practising with small things prepares us for larger ones, in the same way that a musician practises scales before playing a concert.

Evening: Looking Back and Putting Down

The evening is a natural time for reflection, and for putting down what we have picked up during the day.

One evening practice is the mirror, as the Buddha taught Rāhula. Look back on your day and ask: did any of my actions or words cause harm? If so, acknowledge it gently, and decide whether there is anything you can do to repair it tomorrow. Did any of my actions lead to well-being? If so, be glad. This is not a court case against yourself. It is simply looking, honestly and kindly.

Another evening practice is to notice what you are still holding. Before sleep, ask: is there anything from today that I am still carrying, a worry, a resentment, an unfinished conversation? Name it. Then, if you can, imagine setting it down beside the bed for the night, like a bag you will pick up in the morning if you still need it. Many people find that they do not need to pick it up again.

A third practice is gratitude. Write down or simply remember three things from the day that you are grateful for. They can be very small: a good meal, a moment of sunshine, a kind message. Gratitude helps us notice what we have, rather than what we lack, and it softens the hunger of craving.

Finally, you might end the day with a few phrases of loving-kindness, for yourself and for the people you met, including any who were difficult. Going to sleep with a kind wish in your heart is a gentle way of letting go of the day.

Good Friends

There is one more practice that the Buddhist tradition considers essential, and it is not something we do alone. It is having good friends.

In a discourse found in the Saṃyutta Nikāya at number 45.2, Ānanda says to the Buddha, in my own paraphrase, that it seems to him that good friendship is half of the spiritual life. The Buddha corrects him: not half, Ānanda. Good friendship, good companionship, is the whole of the spiritual life. A person with good friends, he explains, can be expected to develop the whole path.

This is a striking statement. The Buddha, who spent so much time teaching about the individual mind, says that friendship is the whole of the path. Why? Because we learn, grow and keep going on the path largely through the people around us. Good friends remind us of what matters, support us when we struggle, tell us honestly when we are going wrong and share in our joys. Without them, practice is much harder.

For a book about letting go, this is an important reminder. Letting go is not a solitary achievement. We need people who can help us notice when we are clinging, who can encourage us to put down our grudges, who can sit with us in grief and who can laugh with us at our own seriousness. Oksana's friend, who reminded her that practice is small and daily, was exactly this kind of good friend.

It is worth asking: who are the good friends in your life? How can you spend more time with them? And how can you be a good friend to others, helping them in the same way? Joining a group that shares your interest in these ideas, whether a meditation group, a reading circle or simply a few friends who meet to talk, can also be a powerful support.

Good friends also help us see our blind spots. Each of us has habits of clinging that are obvious to others but invisible to ourselves: a way of always needing to be right, a tendency to take things personally, an old grudge that colours our conversations. A good friend can point these out gently, at the right moment. Hearing such things can be uncomfortable. But it is one of the greatest gifts a friend can give, and one of the most valuable forms of help on the path of letting go.

Four Lives, Small Practices

Juan is twenty-nine and works long shifts as a nurse in a busy emergency department. He has no time for long meditations. But he has developed a few small habits. Before each shift, in the car park, he takes three breaths and silently says, "May I be kind today." Each time he washes his hands between patients, which is many times, he checks his grip: shoulders, jaw, breath. After each shift, on the drive home, he names one thing he is still carrying and imagines leaving it at the hospital door. He says these tiny practices have made a large difference to how he copes with the stress of his work.

Bisi is sixty-two and recently started an evening practice of the mirror. Each night before bed, she sits for five minutes and looks back on her day. At first, she was harsh with herself, listing every mistake. Then she learned to look more kindly, noticing both the moments when she was impatient and the moments when she was generous. She has noticed that she is now less likely to repeat the same impatient words, because she remembers looking at them in the mirror the night before.

Leo is thirteen and gets very upset when he loses games, both on screens and in sports. His mother teaches him a simple practice: after a game, win or lose, he names one thing he enjoyed and one thing he learned, and then he says, "Game over," and lets it go. At first, he thinks it is silly. But after a few weeks, he notices that he recovers more quickly from losses, and that he enjoys games more, even when he loses.

Oksana, from the beginning of this chapter, takes her friend's advice. Each morning, before work, she sets a simple intention. At work, she uses the moment of putting on her white coat as a cue to check her grip. In the evening, she does the mirror practice and names three things she is grateful for. She also starts meeting her friend once a month for tea and conversation about what they are both learning. Six months later, she still forgets the teachings sometimes. But she notices that she forgets less often, returns more quickly and carries less resentment home from work. The path across the field has begun to form.

Juan, Bisi, Leo and Oksana each found small practices that fit their lives. None of the practices took much time. But done day after day, they slowly changed how each of them met difficulty, held on and let go.

Practical Steps

First, choose one morning practice. Set an intention, reflect on change or offer a few phrases of loving-kindness. Do it most mornings.

Second, choose one daily cue. Pick an everyday moment, such as opening a door, and use it as a reminder to check your grip.

Third, give something each day. Find one small way to give, whether time, attention, help or kindness.

Fourth, choose one evening practice. Look in the mirror at your day, set down what you are carrying or remember three things you are grateful for.

Fifth, find good friends. Spend time with people who support your growth, and be such a friend to others.

Sixth, forgive yourself for forgetting. When you notice that you have forgotten your practices, simply return, without scolding.

A Short Practice: Planning One Day

This practice takes about fifteen minutes to plan and a whole day to try. It helps you weave letting go into an ordinary day.

Take a page and divide it into three parts: morning, during the day and evening. In the morning section, write one short practice you will do, such as setting an intention or offering phrases of loving-kindness. Write the exact words you will use.

In the during-the-day section, choose one or two cues that will remind you to check your grip or notice a second arrow. Write them down: for example, "every time I sit down at my desk" or "every time I wait in a queue". Also write one small act of giving you will try to do.

In the evening section, write the practice you will do before sleep: the mirror, setting down what you carry or gratitude.

Then live the day. Do not worry if you forget some of the practices. Notice when you remember, and enjoy those moments.

The next morning, look back at your page. Which practices did you remember? Which felt helpful? Which felt forced? Adjust your plan, and try it again. Over a few weeks, you will find a small set of practices that fit your life, and that you can keep up without much effort.

Questions People Often Ask

"Do I need to meditate to practise letting go?" Formal meditation can be very helpful, and many people find that it deepens their ability to let go. But the practices in this chapter do not require long periods of meditation. Small, daily moments of noticing and letting go, woven into ordinary life, are themselves a powerful practice.

"What if I keep forgetting to practise?" Everyone forgets, especially at first. It may help to link practices to things you already do every day, such as brushing your teeth, making tea or starting the car, so that the existing habit reminds you. It also helps to start with very few practices, perhaps just one, and add more only when the first feels natural.

"Is it selfish to focus on my own practice when others need me?" Not at all. Practices of letting go, kindness and equanimity usually make us better able to care for others, not less. A person who is less burdened by grudges, worries and clinging has more patience, attention and warmth to give. Like the oxygen mask on an aeroplane, caring for our own minds helps us care for others.

Chapter Summary

Ideas about letting go rarely change our lives on their own; what changes us is small, daily practice, repeated like footsteps forming a path across a field. Forgetting is part of practice, and returning is itself a small letting go. In Majjhima Nikāya 61, the Buddha taught his son Rāhula to look at his actions like a mirror, before, during and after, asking whether they lead to harm or well-being.

In the Loṇaphala Sutta of the Aṅguttara Nikāya, the Buddha compared a lump of salt in a small cup with the same lump in a large river; practice enlarges the container of the heart, so that difficulties do not poison everything. Simple morning, daytime and evening practices, such as intentions, grip checks, small gifts, the mirror, setting down burdens and gratitude, can fit into any day. In Saṃyutta Nikāya 45.2, the Buddha called good friendship the whole of the spiritual life.

In the final chapter, we bring these ideas together and look at what it might mean to hold life lightly.