The weight we leave behind

You’re at an airport, suitcase in hand, shoulder stiff from the weight. The case is heavy, covered in scuffs and scratches, but familiar. The sum of every layover, every wrong turn, every place you’ve ever dragged it. You’ve lugged it through crowded terminals, down long sterile corridors, even across continents.

You wonder if you should leave it behind on the carousel and walk away lighter, on purpose. But of course, you don’t.

The metaphor is as tired as the suitcase but essential for the context.

I got a note the other day: an old colleague of mine had passed away. The news hit in that peculiar way these things do, stopping me in my tracks and pulling me back to years and places I hadn’t visited in a long time. Unpacking memories I needed to remember.

Projects we poured ourselves into, late-night calls, half-solved problems, and an endless stream of work. We’d had our conflicts, too—umbrages that seemed worth holding on to, at least back then. Some of it, in hindsight, was more about my own petulance. We pack all that into our mental luggage and carry it like we’ll need it later. But now, all those things that felt so significant are distilled down to a handful of memories, a realisation that makes you wonder if you’ve been carrying it all wrong.

I say colleague, but I mean friend—a friendship that lasted several years after our working lives took different paths. And I say colleague, and I say friend, but I also mean mentor, teacher, and confidant.

Those post-working relationship calls—How’s the family? Did you mean to paint the kitchen that colour? When are you going to give up your secret gravy recipe?

I miss those calls.

It was in those conversations, years after our last shared project, that I realised not everything we carry weighs us down. Some things we keep hold of because they lift us up. Those pieces—the reminders of growth, the shared wisdom, the camaraderie—that’s the kind of baggage worth holding onto.

It got me thinking about the things we collect in our working lives. There’s the baggage that’s worth carrying—the lessons, the hard-won growth, the grit and grind that brings insights you only gain after you’ve been through the fire. That kind of baggage makes us better and gives us something to stand on. We get stronger from those knocks, those doubts and disappointments, the headwind feedback we didn’t want but probably needed.

I’ve got a few of those old dents, memories worth their weight. They fuel us, shape us, make us the professionals we’re proud to be.

But then there’s the rest—the baggage that doesn’t serve us, yet somehow we carry it anyway.

The old grievances and arguments—who should have gotten the credit? The criticisms that felt too personal. We pack them away in our evidence locker, forensically reminding ourselves never to let that happen again. They get heavier every year, slowing us down, but we ignore them—until, suddenly, we can’t.

The freedom we need is the ability to stop, sift through what we’re carrying, and decide what’s worth bringing forward.

Imagine standing at that check-in counter and deciding to leave a suitcase behind. There’s a thrill in the thought of it, the idea of just letting go. What would that feel like? To walk away lighter, keeping only the memories and lessons that make us better, while letting the rest spin off on the baggage carousel until it disappears.

Years ago, I got feedback that stung a bit too close. I carried it around for a long time, turning it over, trying to decipher it from every angle. It wasn’t teaching me anything new; it had turned from a lesson into another weight, an echo of self-doubt. It was time to leave it behind and move forward.

The news of my friend’s passing gave me a moment to reflect: there’s a limit to how long we carry everything. It’s a reminder to let go of what’s dead weight—not the lessons that enrich us, but the frustrations, insecurities, and petty struggles that don’t serve us. Those don’t belong. They only clutter up space we could fill with something new—something meaningful.

So, next time you revisit an old grudge or an unneeded disappointment, ask yourself if it still has a place in your life. And if it doesn’t, let it go. Leave it spinning on the carousel until it’s out of sight.

Here’s to those who’ve traveled with us, shaping our path—even when they’ve moved on ahead.

RIP, friend.