She taught me how to hold on. ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

Progress has a specific rhythm.

Today's essay explores that rhythm.

Then: a podcast episode about humble homes.

Hold on, here we go...

Monkey Bars

Joshua Fields Millburn

The week my family moved to Ojai, California, my eight-year-old daughter, Ella, taught me how to let go.

The monkey bars at our local park are a magnet for kids of all ages and abilities. During our first visit, a hesitant boy named Aiden couldn’t understand how Ella swung across the bars so effortlessly.

Hanging from the first rung, Aiden froze and held up the line.

“You have to let go to move forward,” Ella told him.

“But I'll fall.”

“You have to hold on if you don't want to fall.”

“I can't let go and hold on at the same time.”

“If you want to get to the other side, you have to let go, then hold on, then let go.”

Ella climbed back onto the monkey bars and swayed from the second rung. "You have to be strong to hold on," she said. Then she stopped moving. After a moment, her arms began to shake. "But if you hold on too long, you get tired." She smiled, reached for the next bar, and kept going.

How interesting.

To get anywhere, you have to know when to hold on.

And when to let go.

—JFM

P.S. Ready for the next rung? Join me on the How to Let Go Tour in Seattle, Vancouver, and New York City this fall.

New PODCAST

"The things that humble you often heal you."

Read 6 new maxims in the show notes

EPISODE 549 | HUMBLE THINGS

This week on The Minimalists Podcast, we talk about rules for a humble home, surprising things a minimalist might own, why clutter spreads, and more. Listen on Apple, Spotify, YouTube, or Patreon.