It doesn't take a lot of strength to hang on. It takes a lot of

J. C. Watts, a man of politics and faith, once spoke words that carry the weight of timeless wisdom: “It doesn’t take a lot of strength to hang on. It takes a lot of strength to let go.” In this saying lies the paradox of the human heart: that clinging to what is familiar, even when it harms us, often feels easier than releasing it. True strength is not in the grip of our hands, but in the courage of our spirit—the courage to release, to trust, to step into the unknown.

When Watts speaks of hanging on, he names the instinct we all share: the desire to hold tight to people, possessions, dreams, or even pains that give us a sense of identity. To hang on is natural. A drowning man clutches at driftwood, a grieving soul clings to memory, and the fearful heart grips old ways that no longer serve it. This requires little strength, for it is the reflex of survival. But to let go—to loosen the hand and trust the current—this is an act of power, an act of faith. It is strength not of muscle, but of soul.

History offers us the tale of George Washington, who, after leading his country to victory, surrendered his power and returned to private life. Many urged him to seize the crown, to hold on to authority. To cling would have been easy, for the people adored him, and the throne was within reach. Yet Washington understood the deeper truth: that it took far greater strength to let go of power than to keep it. By relinquishing control, he ensured the birth of a republic rather than the rise of a tyranny. His letting go became the foundation of a nation’s freedom.

So too in our own lives, we face the same struggle, though on humbler stages. We hold on to grudges that poison us, to relationships that wound us, to fears that chain us. To release them feels like death, for we mistake them as part of who we are. Yet every sage, every prophet, every wise teacher has taught this: that by letting go, we make room for renewal. The tree must release its leaves in autumn so that spring may come. The traveler must release old burdens if he is to climb the mountain. To let go is to trust in life’s unfolding.

Watts’ words remind us that strength is not stubbornness. To cling endlessly is not proof of bravery, but often of fear. True courage is the ability to accept that some chapters must end, that some battles are not ours to fight forever, that some losses must be embraced as part of our journey. In the act of letting go, we do not weaken; we rise above what sought to chain us. We discover that freedom is not gained by holding tighter, but by opening our hands.

The lesson, then, is clear: when the time comes, dare to let go. Do not cling to the past when it is finished. Do not bind yourself to relationships, habits, or identities that stifle your growth. Letting go is not the end of your story—it is the beginning of a new one. Just as Washington’s surrender of power gave birth to a new world, so too can your surrender of old attachments give birth to new strength within you.

Practically, this means: reflect on what you are holding that holds you back. Ask yourself, “Does this nourish me, or does it bind me?” Have the courage to release what no longer serves your higher path. Forgive those who wronged you, even if they never asked. Step away from paths that no longer lead to light. Trust that what is meant for you will remain, and what departs was never truly yours. This is the wisdom of letting go.

So let it be remembered: it takes little strength to hang on, but great strength to let go. To release is not defeat; it is mastery. It is the triumph of the spirit over fear, the victory of courage over clinging. Let us, then, walk as the strong do: unafraid to open our hands, unafraid to begin anew, unafraid to let go. For in release, we find not emptiness, but freedom.