When to Let Go

Yesterday I hiked to Arnica Lake, and like so many of my hikes this year, it turned into more than just a climb, it became yet another lesson in life for me.

The trail starts innocently enough at the roadside, then immediately drops down to the jewel-toned waters of Vista Lake. Autumn had painted parts of the shoreline in rich golds and reds, and the reflection shimmered as though the world was reminding me of its beauty before asking me to work for it. Because from there, it’s all uphill... 700 meters of elevation gain in just 3 kilometres. A grind. A steady push forward.

Castle Mountain in the distance

With every switchback, the views grew grander. Castle Mountain stood watch in the distance, like a fortress rising over the Bow River, unyielding and eternal. Higher still, the larches began to appear, their needles glowing yellow in the soft September light. There’s something magical about larch season in the Rockies. They’re conifers that do the unthinkable, they let go of their needles each year, showering the forest floor in golden confetti before standing bare against the coming snow.

By the time I reached Arnica Lake, tucked beneath a massive headwall and surrounded by a glowing halo of larches, I felt both exhausted and alive. I walked around the water until I found a quiet spot, sat down with my snack, my pup Denali, and watched the needles fall gently to the ground and lake surface. Each one seemed to whisper a message: let go.

And I realized, that’s what I’ve been wrestling with lately, when to let go.

Arnica Lake, with larch needles decorating the water and shore

It’s so hard to release what we love. Hard to let go of people we care about, even when holding on hurts more than it helps. Hard to let go of a relationship that felt wonderful to me, but wasn’t worth fighting for to someone else. Hard to let go of my mom’s house, packed with eighty-one years of her stories, knowing that walls and furniture are not the person I loved. Hard to let go of hurt feelings, of expectations, of the need to control outcomes that were never mine to control.

And yet, nature shows us that letting go is part of the cycle. The larch doesn’t cling to its needles out of fear. It trusts that after the long quiet of winter, new growth will come in spring. The spruce and pine hold fast to their green, while the larch and aspen let go... both ways of being are valid, both serve their purpose.

Maybe the lesson is that sometimes we are called to hold on, to root deeply and weather the storm. Other times, we are called to release, to rest, and to make space for something new.

I don’t always know which is which in my own life. I do know I will always hold on to my memories of Mom, those are evergreens. But the pain of her loss, the loneliness that threatens to take root, those are the things I need to let go of. Not forgetting, not dismissing, just loosening my grip enough to breathe again.

As I walked back down the trail, the path was soft with golden needles. What had once been part of the trees was now becoming part of the earth, nourishing what’s to come. It resonated with me that letting go doesn’t mean waste or loss, it means transformation.

Maybe that’s the message I needed yesterday: let it go, rest, and trust that, like the forest, I too will regrow in time.

Vista Lake

The Mental Health Connection

Letting go isn’t just about grief or change, it’s about mental health too which I talked about in last weeks blog. Holding on too tightly to pain, to people, or to the past can weigh us down until we break. But loosening our grip, even just a little, makes room for peace, for rest, for growth.

I'll say it again... Our mental health is our wealth, and part of protecting it means knowing when to be like the spruce, steady, rooted, holding strong, and when to be like the larch, trusting the cycle enough to release what no longer serves us.

If you’re carrying something heavy today, maybe the question isn’t how do I keep holding on? Maybe it’s what am I being invited to let go of?

Because just like the mountains, we are meant to weather seasons. And in every season, there’s wisdom in knowing when to hold on... and when to let go.