A cat

There’s something about this sketch — the cat mid-stretch, eyes closed, body arched in that luxurious curve — that feels like a perfect embodiment of letting go. It’s not just a morning stretch; it’s a complete surrender to comfort, a soft exhale after tension. The way her paws reach forward while her tail lifts high suggests a presence so rooted in the now, there’s no need to hold anything back. It’s as if she’s forgotten the world entirely — no need for vigilance or purpose, just the joy of being a body in motion, free and unburdened.

Letting go can look like this: a quiet return to ourselves, where nothing demands explanation or effort. In that moment, the cat isn’t trying to be graceful, but she is. She isn’t trying to be anything at all — and maybe that’s the lesson. To release the held breath, the clenched jaw, the thought looping on repeat. To lean into the stretch of life with a heart that’s no longer bracing. There’s such peace in surrender, in the simple trust that all is well — or will be — once we stop gripping so tightly.