—Your favorite mug broke —his partner said from the kitchen.
He remained silent.
That mug had a history.
It was the one his mother gave him when he got his first job.
It had an old crack, but he kept using it. It was his symbol.
He found it in the trash can: broken in two, stained with coffee.
For a few seconds, he felt that warmth in his chest: anger, sadness, something between a knot and a knife.
But then he remembered something he read from Epictetus:
"What you love is mortal. Remember that every day. And when it breaks, don’t say: ‘It’s lost!’, say: ‘It returned to where it belongs.’"
He took a deep breath.
The mug was not his mother, nor his past, nor his worth.
It was just a mug.
One that accompanied him for a time, like everything he loves, and now he had to let it go.
And in that moment, without seeking it, he understood what freedom is.
And you? Do you keep things because they give you peace… or because you don’t dare to let them go?
What would you have done with the mug?
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