There’s a Buddhist parable I share in Awaken Your Genius: A man builds a raft to cross a raging river and safely reaches the other side.
Grateful for the raft that saved his life, he puts the raft onto his back and ventures into a dense forest.
But the raft, once a lifesaver, becomes a liability. It snags on branches, slows him down, and blocks his path.
Still, he refuses to let go of the raft.
“This is my raft!” he insists. “I built it. It saved my life!”
But to survive today, he must release the raft that saved his life yesterday.
Over the course of my life, I found myself carrying around rafts that no longer served me. For example, in 2021, I decided to leave my tenured position as a law professor to focus entirely on writing and speaking.
This wasn’t just a job—it was a raft I had poured my heart into. The security of tenure, the identity wrapped in being a professor, the safety net of a guaranteed paycheck for life—they all clung to me like comforting whispers in a storm.
But as long as I kept one foot in academia, I would remain tethered to the path I followed before. My academic commitments drained the very energy I needed to step fully into my future.
The rafts we drag around expand far beyond our career choices. A raft can be a relationship that’s run its course, a once-successful product that no longer works, or even a pattern of thinking that brought you here but is now holding you back.
Releasing your raft is painful and jarring. There’s a certainty to it. You’ve carried it around for years, if not decades. It makes you feel safe and comfortable.
What’s more, when you’ve invested time and resources into building a raft, the sunk-cost fallacy kicks in and prompts you to stay the course. (I’ve spent two years on this project, so I can’t quit now!).
And then there’s our ego. When we’re being rewarded for carrying around a raft, we fear becoming irrelevant if we let it go.
Who am I without this raft? Without the title of professor? Senior director? Without this relationship or this identity?
But letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. Quite the opposite: Letting go requires honoring your past. The time, money, and effort you expended to major in art history, go to law school, or start a business—these aren’t costs. They are gifts, seeds planted by your former self for your current self to harvest.
Was your job a failure if it gave you the skills to thrive elsewhere? Was your relationship a failure if it taught you how to love? Was your art history major a failure if it helped you see the world with fresh eyes?
The raft isn’t your destination. It’s a tool that got you here.
Say thank you to the raft. Honor what it gave you. And then let it go.
Because what’s dying in your life isn’t an ending.
It’s fertilizer for what’s awakening.
P.S. Letting go isn’t just a skill—it’s a superpower. That’s why I dedicated an entire section to it in my Wall Street Journal bestselling book, Awaken Your Genius. In the book, you’ll find practical strategies to shed who you’re not, so you can uncover the person you’re meant to be.
And if you’ve already read and enjoyed the book, please leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Reviews are like tiny rafts themselves, carrying the message to those who need it most. Thank you for being part of this journey.
Bold