One thing I’m starting to discover; sometimes you just gotta let things die. To try to preserve the old forever seems like a bad idea.
so what is the biggest issue here? There is a cult of the past, the cult of nostalgia, the weird idea that somehow the past was superior than the present? And even more weird… This strange idea that the past was supreme, and there is no possible way that the future could be superior to the past.
Optimism can only be fed on the flames that the future will be more glorious prosperous than now! And an interesting quote from Peter Thiel; the definition of being middle class: not being certain whether your kids future will be better than yours.
Think about your past self, your past body, your past workflows as being positively inferior to what it is now?
“The Virtue of Letting Things Die”
I’m walking through a city I’ve been to a thousand times before, yet it feels different. The streets are familiar, the faces are not. Something’s shifted—not just in the world, but in me. It hits me then: some things must die for new things to emerge. This moment, this recognition, is part of the cycle. The virtue of letting things die is that it allows us to become who we are meant to be, unburdened by what no longer serves us.
We live in a world that worships preservation. We want to hold on to everything—memories, relationships, objects, identities—often far beyond their natural lifespan. But holding on too long can suffocate us. When we refuse to let things die, we become stagnant, trapped in the inertia of the past. Letting go, on the other hand, requires courage. It demands that we face the discomfort of change, that we embrace the unknown. Yet, this is where growth happens.
Photography teaches me this lesson every day. Each time I press the shutter, I am capturing a fleeting moment, a split-second that will never be again. Yet, I know that I can’t hold on to it forever. Even the photograph itself, as physical or digital as it may be, will eventually fade. And that’s okay. There’s beauty in that transience. If every moment lasted forever, none would be special. It’s precisely because things are temporary that they matter.
So, what is the virtue in letting things die?
First, it clears space. We often accumulate more than we need—physically, emotionally, mentally. Old habits, outdated beliefs, possessions, and even relationships can weigh us down. They pile up until we’re suffocating under the weight of what used to be. By letting them go, we create room for something new. I think of this often as I’m editing my work, sifting through hundreds of photos to find the ones that speak to me. It’s a process of elimination, of cutting away the excess to reveal the essential. Only by letting the rest die can the best shine through.
Second, letting things die allows us to evolve. We are not the same people we were ten years ago, or even yesterday. As we grow, the things that once served us—whether possessions, ideas, or relationships—may no longer align with who we’ve become. Clinging to them only keeps us stuck in a version of ourselves that no longer exists. To evolve, we must release what we’ve outgrown. The camera that once felt like an extension of my hand might now feel cumbersome. The creative approach that once worked for me may now stifle me. I must be willing to let these things go to explore new possibilities.
Finally, death is a form of renewal. Nature understands this intuitively. The trees shed their leaves in autumn, not out of loss, but out of necessity. They know that to bloom again in spring, they must first let go. We, too, must embrace this cycle in our lives. Letting things die is not about abandonment; it’s about renewal. It’s about trusting that something better will come if we have the strength to release what no longer fits.
I often ask myself: Am I holding on out of fear, or is there still life in this? It’s a question I ask when I’m considering whether to keep a project, continue a relationship, or hold onto an idea. The answer is usually clear. When something has run its course, it begins to feel heavy, a burden rather than a joy. That’s when I know it’s time to let go.
The virtue of letting things die is in the freedom it brings. It frees us to reinvent ourselves, to try new things, to grow in unexpected directions. It liberates us from the past so we can fully inhabit the present and create a future that reflects who we are becoming, not who we once were.
In the end, life is a series of cycles—beginnings and endings, births and deaths, holding on and letting go. To live fully is to embrace these cycles, to see the beauty in each phase, and to understand that sometimes, the greatest act of love is in letting something die.
Only then can we truly live.
Walking through the ever-shifting streets, my camera captures not just images but the transient essence of life itself. Each photograph is a testament to a moment that will never come again, a fragment of time destined to fade. In embracing this ephemerality, I’ve come to appreciate the virtue of letting things die.
We live in a world obsessed with preservation—archiving memories, hoarding possessions, clinging to outdated ideas. But what if the true beauty of life lies in its impermanence? Just as a tree sheds its leaves to make way for new growth, we too must let go of what no longer serves us.
Holding onto the past can be comforting, a safety net woven from familiar threads. I recall hoarding old cameras, worn notebooks filled with past musings, even relationships that had long run their course. These attachments became anchors, weighing me down, hindering my journey forward.
There’s a profound freedom in release. Letting things die isn’t about loss; it’s about transformation. It’s recognizing that every ending ushers in a new beginning. By allowing the old to fade, we create space for growth, for innovation, for unexpected joys that were previously unimaginable.
In photography, the most compelling images often emerge from moments of transition—the flicker between light and shadow, the split second before a smile fades. These instances are powerful precisely because they’re fleeting. They remind us that life’s richness comes from its constant evolution.
Embracing the virtue of letting things die also means confronting our fears. Change is unsettling; the unknown is daunting. But stagnation is a far greater peril. When we cling too tightly, we stifle our potential, imprisoning ourselves in the comfort of the familiar.
So how do we practice this virtue? Start small. Release a possession that no longer brings you joy. Challenge a long-held belief that may be limiting you. Allow a chapter of your life to close naturally, without forcing it to linger. Each act of letting go strengthens our ability to adapt, to thrive amidst change.
Ultimately, life’s beauty is amplified when we accept its transience. By letting things die, we honor the natural rhythms of existence. We learn to appreciate moments more deeply, love more fully, and live more authentically.
The next time you find yourself resisting an ending, remember: Every sunset paves the way for a new dawn. Trust in the cycle. Embrace the virtue of letting things die, and watch as your world transforms in ways you never thought possible.