Letting Go

Writing about letting go, especially at the end of the year and the beginning of a new one, is pretty cliché. Yet, letting go is usually good – we don’t want to traipse through life hanging on to everything we start life with and everything we pick up along the way. At some point, we have to let go of certain things, thoughts, people, habits, places, and patterns that no longer serve us (I know, another cliché).

As we move along our path of life, inevitably there are bumps and turns that we don’t expect. Circumstances change, people change, wishes and desires change, and we go along, navigating the twists and turns of our life’s path.

The other day, I was presented with a choice of letting go of something I’d held dearly to for many years and turning a new corner. I didn’t recognize it as an invitation to let go. This invitation came in the form of an email from the Massachusetts health professional licensing board informing me it was time to renew my nurse practitioner license – something I’d done every four years for the past 36 years, which made this my 9^th renewal. I knew it was coming, and I was preparing to power through the 60 hours of continuing education that were required and to pay the renewal fee.

Advanced Practice Nurse– a certificate that had been hard earned. After two years of grad school and working full-time at Children’s Hospital, I failed the 4-hour certification exam. That knocked me down a peg or two – I’d never failed anything in my life.  Once I passed the exam six months later on my second try, I vowed I would never let that license lapse for fear I’d never pass it again.

Pediatric Nurse Practitioner - a title I’d been so proud of, and that brought my nursing practice to a higher standard and level of care that opened more doors than I ever imagined possible. At the age of 25, my decision to follow through on the spontaneous notion, “I want to be a nurse practitioner,” was one of the best choices I made.

Now, age 64 and faced with the decision of whether to renew that revered license or to let it go, I was turning a corner. I haven’t worked as a nurse practitioner for over 10 years. Even during COVID, no hospital called and asked for my help.  Twelve years ago, I enrolled in Chinese medical school to become an acupuncturist. That was my new career; I called it my retirement career, but still, I would never let that nurse practitioner license lapse. It meant too much to me, even though I was no longer using it.

After some time spent considering whether I really needed this license, I made the decision: I would not renew. The board of nursing didn’t make it easy. When I clicked on the box indicating I wanted to deactivate my advanced practice nurse license, a message popped up in big bold red letters – “Are you SURE?” The message went on to inform me that once deactivated, I could no longer practice as a nurse practitioner. Gasp. Was I sure? No longer allowed to do something I’ve been doing most of my adult life? It sounded like the board was warning me against making a bad, misguided decision. But I clicked on “Yes, I’m SURE" and just like that, I lost my legal right to work as a nurse practitioner. And once I got over the initial fear that maybe I had made a mistake, I felt lighter, freer, like a silk scarf had come unwrapped from around my neck. I imagined holding that scarf up to the sky, opening my hand, and letting the breeze carry it away.

I had discarded a layer, a part of myself that I had held onto so tightly. My job as a nurse practitioner for 30+ years had defined me; it was my identity. But now I was letting go of that thick superficial outer layer that held recognition, roles, titles, and a sense of importance. It had been a reliable source of income. I’d loved my job in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, and now I’d cut myself off from it. Sure, technically I’d left it years ago, but now I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to. For a minute, it felt momentous, but really, it was just another corner along my life’s path.

Over the past ten years of learning and practicing Chinese medicine, I’ve been exposed to Buddhism and Daoism and the cultures around those religions.  I’ve adopted some of their practices and teachings, and I continue to learn. As a result, I meditate more consistently. I practice Qigong, and I incorporate Tibetan singing bowls into my acupuncture treatments.

What had I done when I chose to deactivate my license?

• I traded out my stethoscope for acupuncture needles.

• I traded out the morning rat race rush for morning qigong practice.

• I traded the stress of intensive care, where every day was a crisis, and every call an

  emergency, for awareness to pause, breathe, and smile.

• Days spent recording critical lab values and vital information have become days

  of creative writing.

• The white-knuckled travel through New England blizzards, the commutes in and out of

  New York City, Boston, and Providence, the road rage, the barrage of angry words and fingers flipped - have been traded for metta, loving kindness.   

I have let go of the need to prove myself, to please the boss, or to meet everyone else’s needs and expectations.

I have welcomed the knowledge that I am my own boss, and I do what is right for me, my

soul, and the world around me.

In letting go and choosing to turn a new corner, life has become fresh with new opportunities,  sure to come complete with new twists and turns.