Let It Go (Yes, Even That Last Drop of Ketchup)

Sometimes it’s not about making the perfect choice—it’s about making peace with the one you’ve made.

This morning, I put my contacts in and they burned. Not a little sting. A full-blown are-my-eyes-melting kind of situation. But instead of removing them like a reasonable adult, I blinked the pain into a dull throb and went about my morning, pretending that dry eyeball cling wrap was just a normal Wednesday vibe.

Now, this would be bad enough if it were an isolated event. But a few days ago, I literally rubbed a contact straight out of my own eye. Poof—gone. It fluttered down onto the garage floor, a place that has never once been described as “sterile.” Did I throw it out and start fresh? Of course not. I squinted with my remaining eyeball to locate it, held it delicately (like one would a baby bird or a dropped Cheeto), finished my conversation with my husband like nothing happened, then strolled inside, gave it a half-hearted spritz with the off-brand contact solution, and popped that sucker right back in.

I’ve been doing this kind of thing for years—stretching two-week lenses into two-month death traps, justifying it with logic like, I’m saving money, I’m saving the planet, and I’m saving myself the agony of scheduling another eye exam. I’ve worn glasses or contacts since the third grade, and according to my mother, without them, I look like Mr. Magoo trying to navigate a corn maze in the dark.

So yes, I have my reasons. But so did every person in a cautionary tale.

The Ketchup Bottle Theory

This ocular recklessness reminded me of another habit: squeezing every last microscopic drop out of a ketchup bottle like I’m trying to juice a tomato. I shake. I slap. I tilt the bottle at NASA-calculated angles. All to avoid “wasting” what’s left.

But then I open a new bottle—and despite the unreasonably stubborn safety seal—I’m rewarded with that first easy, effortless squirt. And I remember: Oh yeah. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

No frustration. No wrestling. No condiments that require CrossFit strength.

So Why Do We Do This?

Why do we cling so hard to what’s empty?

Or worn out?

Or living a double life as a petri dish?

Because somewhere along the way, we started believing that holding on is noble. That letting go is lazy. That making things work—even when they very much do not—is somehow virtuous.

But here’s the truth: we’re not meant to wear the same contacts forever.We’re not meant to squeeze ketchup until our tendons give out.And we are definitely not meant to cling to people, roles, or habits that used to fit but don’t anymore.

Here's Your Permission Slip

Let go.

Let go of the gross garage contact.Let go of the almost-empty bottle.Let go of the version of you that thought everything had to be a struggle to be worthwhile.

There won’t always be a “perfect” choice. Sometimes it’s just the best one for right now. So pick it. Own it. And if you need to offset your footprint somewhere else, go plant a tree. Recycle something. Hug an optometrist.

In a world obsessed with hustle, waste-not, and being endlessly resourceful, maybe the boldest move you can make… is letting it go before it hurts you.

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