For a year, I carried around the same unsolved problem. I was trying to write a memoir, and I could not figure out how to organize it. How do I tell the whole story without letting my dad's disappearance overshadow everything else? I read books about writing, started a blog to practice my writing, and turned the structure over in my head so many times I lost count.

Then one afternoon, I was walking the trails by Lake Red Rock. The sun was shining, and it was 70 degrees, a beautiful gift in the middle of an Iowa winter. Out of nowhere, I heard it loud and clear: It's two books, Lisa.

Of course. Two books instead of one. My dad's disappearance needed space to be fully told.

I remember thinking, how did that not occur to me sooner? It seemed so obvious. But it didn't come from reading the books, or the outlining, or the year of trying to think my way to the answer. It came the moment I stopped wrestling with how to fit my whole life into one book.

For the record, neither book is finished. Apparently, clarity and completion are two very different things. But at that moment on the trail, the fog lifted. I didn't have all the answers. I had one, and one was enough to let me breathe again.

Being good at solving problems can convince you that peace must be earned by fixing everything. But relief isn't waiting on the other side of the solution. It begins when you loosen your grip enough to breathe, clear your mind, and recognize the next answer when it comes.

Recognize the Grip

I've always been a problem solver. When something isn't going right or just feels wrong, my mind goes to work immediately, turning it over, running scenarios, looking for the fix, and for a long time I thought that was simply who I was. Useful, even.

It is useful until problem-solving turns into a need to control the outcome. There’s a real difference between working through something and mentally carrying it everywhere you go. Working through something produces a decision, an action, or new information. Holding on keeps circulating the same thoughts without any real progress.

You can usually tell which one you're doing by how it feels. If you've replayed the same conversation for the tenth time today, or you're still turning over a decision you made a week ago, that's not work anymore. That's white-knuckling.

Release the Requirement

Here's the belief I didn't know I had until I saw it clearly: I thought relief was something I had to earn. Solve the problem, then feel better. Make the decision, then relax. Finish the project, then breathe. Somewhere along the way, solving problems became connected to earning rest.

Relief isn't only available after the problem is solved. It's available the moment you stop resisting where you actually are. That's what happened on those trails. Nothing outside me had changed yet. I had simply stopped fighting the whole thing for one afternoon, and that gave the answer enough room to reach me.

Ask a Smaller Question

So, if you're struggling with something right now, and your instinct is to keep pushing until you land on the solution, try a smaller question instead. Not "How do I fix all of this?" That question keeps your hands full. Try instead, "What thought would feel a little better right now?" It’s smaller, and that’s the point. You're not asking yourself to solve anything. You're asking yourself to loosen your hold, one finger at a time.

Sometimes it looks like a walk by the lake. Sometimes it means giving yourself permission to feel a little better before the full answer arrives.

Loosen your hold today, even for an afternoon, and notice what reaches you when your hands are finally open.

Relief isn't the finish line. It's the door.