When my father passed away, I learned to be unattached to

Hear, O children of memory and longing, the words of Eiza González, who spoke with the gravity of one shaped by loss: “When my father passed away, I learned to be unattached to physical things. At a very young age, I was able to roam the world and be emotionally connected but physically disconnected. I’ll get homesick in that I miss my mom. My grounding rock is her and my family.” At first, this seems a confession of sorrow mixed with resilience, yet within it lies the timeless wisdom of how grief reshapes the soul, loosening its grip on the material and anchoring it instead in love.

First, let us consider the moment of loss: the death of the father. Such a wound cuts deeply into the heart of the young, tearing away not only a beloved presence but also the sense of permanence. From this breaking comes revelation: that physical things—objects, possessions, even familiar landscapes—cannot endure. They can be lost in an instant, as fragile as smoke in the wind. In this harsh lesson lies the beginning of wisdom: the shift from clinging to the external toward cherishing the internal.

She speaks of being free to roam the world, and here is the paradox. Though untethered from possessions and places, she discovered the strength to move outward, to explore without being enslaved by the need for physical anchors. This is not indifference, but liberation—the ability to carry her home not in things, but in her heart. To be physically disconnected yet emotionally connected is to belong everywhere, and yet also to feel the ache of homesickness wherever one goes.

And when that ache comes, she names its source: the missing of her mom. For though material things may be set aside, the bonds of love remain unbreakable. She calls her mother her rock, the foundation that steadies her amidst the shifting landscapes of life. In this, González reminds us that family is not the house or the possessions, but the living souls who give us strength. Her words teach us that even as we travel the world, even as we live lightly among possessions, the heart must remain anchored in those we love most.

History too gives us examples of such truth. Consider the Stoic philosopher Epictetus, born into slavery, stripped of possessions, and denied freedom for much of his life. He taught that a person’s true wealth lies not in what can be taken, but in what cannot—virtue, wisdom, love, and inner freedom. Like González, he understood that detachment from the material allows one to endure suffering without being broken. Yet even Epictetus would have agreed with her: that the deepest bonds—those of family, of love—remain the foundation of a meaningful life.

The deeper meaning of González’s words is this: grief transforms us by stripping away illusions. In losing her father, she gained the clarity to see that possessions are fleeting, and that the true treasures of life are found in relationships. Though she travels far, her heart remains tethered to her mother and her family, who form the unshakable center of her being. This is how sorrow, though bitter, can give birth to wisdom.

So let the lesson be this: hold lightly to things, but fiercely to people. Do not measure your life by what you own, for these can vanish. Instead, measure it by the love you give and the love you receive, for these endure even beyond death. Take practical steps: when tempted to cling to possessions, remind yourself that they are dust; when you feel unmoored, turn to your family or those who stand as your rock. For as González teaches, the world may scatter you, but if your heart is grounded in love, you will never be lost.