The Stone, The River, and the Art of Letting Go
There was a day when I was walking alone towards the banks of the sacred Ganga. As I stepped closer to the river, the wet mud near the shoreline clung stubbornly to my feet. Every step felt heavier than the last. It seemed as if the earth itself was trying to hold me back. Yet, the weight on my legs was nothing compared to the weight I carried in my mind. With effort, I crossed the muddy stretch and reached the sandy part of the riverbank. Evening was approaching. The sand beneath my feet felt strangely familiar—some parts were warm from the fading sunlight, while others had already turned cool with the coming dusk. It reminded me of life itself: a mixture of warmth and comfort, pain and uncertainty, memories and hopes. As I continued walking, a small stone somehow got stuck inside my crocs. At first, I tried to ignore it. But with every step, it pressed harder against my foot. The discomfort grew into pain. Oddly enough, it felt exactly like the pain of losing something I on...