The Art of Dropping the Damn Suitcases

There comes a point in life when you realize you are not, in fact, a person — you are a collection of emotional carry-on luggage.

Some of it is vintage. Some of it is monogrammed. Some of it is clearly broken but you keep hauling it anyway because, at some point in 1987, it “felt important.”

We carry old stories. Old fears. Old versions of ourselves that were built for survival, not joy. We carry resentments like heirlooms. We carry expectations that expired somewhere around the second Bush administration. We carry habits that once protected us and now mostly just make us tired.

And then we wonder why we’re exhausted.

Here’s a radical thought: maybe you’re not stuck. Maybe you’re just overloaded.

Higher consciousness — that phrase that sounds like it requires a yurt, a gong, and a $900 shawl — is actually much simpler. It’s just awareness. It’s noticing what you’re carrying and asking, gently but firmly: Is this still useful? Or am I dragging a ghost through my life?

Most of us were built in reaction mode. We learned to brace. To armor up. To anticipate disaster. To hold our breath emotionally — and sometimes literally. Over time, the armor becomes the identity. The bracing becomes the personality.

And the breath? Shallow. Rushed. Nervous. Like we’re always waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Here’s the inconvenient truth: you cannot move into a higher level of consciousness while clutching the same old coping mechanisms that kept you alive in lower ones.

You don’t transcend by climbing.

You transcend by putting things down.

Letting go is not dramatic. It doesn’t come with a movie soundtrack. It’s usually quiet. It sounds like, “Oh. I don’t have to keep doing this.”

It sounds like, “This belief kept me safe once. It doesn’t anymore.”

It sounds like an exhale.

Which brings me to breathing — that thing we’ve been doing our whole lives, mostly badly.

Breath-work is not just “relaxation.” It is the fastest way I know to tell your nervous system, We are not being chased by wolves right now. It is a direct line to the part of your body that still thinks it’s 40,000 years ago and everything is a potential saber-tooth tiger.

When you breathe slowly and consciously, you’re not just calming down. You are teaching your body a new reality.

You are unhooking yourself from constant low-grade panic.

You are interrupting old emotional weather patterns.

You are creating space. And space is where change actually happens.

Recently, I’ve been paying attention to the work of Dr. Espen (Dr. Espen Wold-Jensen), who teaches at the intersection of consciousness, the nervous system, and what he calls the “quantum” nature of change. And before your eyes glaze over — no, this is not about manifesting parking spaces or visualizing a better personality.

His core message is actually very grounded: real change doesn’t start in your thoughts — it starts in your body.

Dr. Espen teaches that most of us are living in a memorized emotional state. The body is running old software. Old stress. Old identity. Old protection strategies. And no amount of positive thinking will fix that if the nervous system is still broadcasting emergency signals.

This is where breathwork becomes revolutionary.

Not performative. Not dramatic. Just physiological honesty.

Breathwork with the right guide isn’t about forcing anything. It’s about allowing. Allowing old grief to move. Allowing old tension to soften. Allowing your nervous system to finally stand down from red alert.

And here’s the part nobody tells you: when you start letting go, you don’t lose yourself.

You find out who you were before you had to become so defended.

You are not your anxiety.

You are not your old stories.

You are not your worst day.

You are not your coping strategies.

You are the awareness underneath all of that.

Higher consciousness isn’t floating above the world. It’s being less entangled in it. Less reactive. Less brittle. Less ruled by ancient alarms.

It’s realizing you can choose again.

So maybe this week, try a tiny experiment:

Notice what you’re holding.

Notice where you’re clenching.

Notice how shallow your breath has become.

Then, once or twice a day, breathe like someone who is no longer running for their life.

Long inhale.

Longer exhale.

Let the suitcases drop.

You don’t have to carry everything into the next chapter.

Some things have done their job.

You are allowed to thank them.

And leave them behind.

Julie Bolejack, MBA

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