A Love Story from the Fishbowl

What letting go taught me about joy, freedom, and trust.

Some stories don’t leave you. They rise again in your memory like a whisper from your soul, gently reminding you of truths your heart once knew. As I was driving home today, my mind revisited a meditative experience I had sometime ago about the fishbowl of life.

I began this journey at the bottom of a spiraling path that wound its way upward around a beautiful, sparkling water fountain. From where I stood, I could see there were many layers to the fountain, and that all one had to do to discover these new layers was to wend their way up the spiraling path.  But in my ignorance, I remained at the bottom—small in my thinking, small in form.

I observed myself as a very young child—so young, so small I couldn’t see over the edge of the bottommost layer of that fountain.  But like any curious child, I needed to know what was in that bowl, even if I couldn’t see it. So there I stood, up on my very tippy toes, arms stretched high over my head, just far enough to feel around with my hands. And so I did—I groped and splashed, splashed and groped. Every now and then, I could feel something brush past my fingers, only to dart away again, just out of reach.

Oh! How I so longed to see it, to grab ahold of whatever was in that water.

Though I couldn’t catch them, my curiosity remained undimmed. I persisted. But then—I realized I was not alone. Caught in the act, I froze—my guilty hands still submerged in the fountain—as I looked up, and up, and up… at a very tall and beautiful angel standing beside me. Without a single word of chastisement or look of disapproval, he gently gestured for me to follow him.

And so I did.

My awe outmatched only by my eagerness, I followed the angel up the winding spiral path.  We stopped halfway around the first curve, and he pointed to the next level of the fountain. My eyes ground round as saucers and my breath caught in my throat as I finally saw—with my eyes—what my hands had only guessed at before.

Fish. All manner of fish!

There were short ones, round ones, long ones, big ones, small ones, puffy ones, flat ones—and the colors! Oh, the colors were so dazzling and varied, it was better than watching a Skittles commercial stuck on super fast-forward. And if you know anything about young children, then you know how fast they can move when they see something they want—faster than mom, dad, or apparently, even an angel can blink! Before you-know-who had time to react, I had one of those gorgeous, zig-zagged striped, purple, gold, pink, and green puffy fish in my hands.

I was in love!

Down at the bottom of that path, I had no clue such glorious abundance even existed. But here—higher up the path—I could see! And I wanted to love, and hug, and cuddle, and squeeze all the beautiful fish in that water fountain with my whole heart! But then … Mr. Beautiful Angel smiled in that oh-so-loving way. and I knew—just knew—he was going to make me put the fish back. While my heart melted like butter in his beautiful presence, I felt the pang of sorrow at the thought of letting go. Yet, instead of insisting I return the fish to the fountain, he gently said, “Sometimes, when we hold that which we love most so tightly, we inflict great harm without meaning to.”

I looked down and saw my beloved friend beginning to gasp for air. My sorrow deepened and crocodile-sized tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t want it to die—I just wanted to love it.

In that moment, I confronted a deep fear: That if I let go of what I loved most… it might swim away and never return.

But now, standing higher on the path than I was before, I realized my ignorance wasn’t quite as great. And so I understood—it was a risk worth taking.. To suffer the grief of loss by setting free the one I cherished most…was better than choking the life out of it—and by extension my own self—because I was afraid of what life without my friend might be like.

Decision made—albeit a little reluctantly—I placed my adored fish friend back into the fountain. And immediately, he furiously swam away, as if trying to put as much distance between us as possible. My heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. Just as I drew in a big, gulping breath to let loose the loudest wail of sorrow my angel friend had ever heard—something amazing happened.

No, the fish I nearly squeezed to death didn’t come back.

But other fish— even more colorful and vibrant— swam over. Swallowing that sob of despair, I gingerly lowered my hands into the water. Some of the new fish swam through my fingers; others stayed a little farther away. It was a slow process that required much patience and perseverance. Still, I was making new friends—and I hadn’t squeezed the life out of a single one. Before I knew it, my heart was bursting with joy. and I was having even more fun letting the fish come and go as they pleased.

A burble of laughter escaped from my throat. I looked back and up at Mr. Beautiful Angel. He smiled and winked at me, then pointed farther up the spiraling path. “It gets better the higher up you go,” he said, nodding toward the fountain. “And they get bigger.”

In that moment, something clicked.

I saw what I hadn’t before.

Emotional freedom—the kind born of love, not fear—isn’t about letting go and losing everything. It’s about rising high enough to see that love never had to be clutched or controlled to stay. That what is divinely right for each of us moves freely, and often returns, fuller and more vibrant than before.

I felt the spark of desire ignite—a desire to grow, to progress, to let go of the old attachments that once made me feel safe…but also small. I wanted to leave behind that place where I believed I had to cling ferociously in order to be loved. I wanted to rise—to become someone who could love without fear.

And maybe that’s why this memory returned with such fondness today.

I’m coming up on the two-year anniversary of my divorce—after 42 years of marriage. Though we parted with great love, with mutual respect and the friendship of a lifetime still intact…letting go was not easy. There were moments I wanted to cling. Moments I feared what might never return. Moments I wondered if joy would ever truly come again.

But just like in the vision, I’ve discovered new colors in life—new expressions of love, freedom, and joy. And I’m learning what it means to trust the flow without needing to grasp. What it means to be full, even when something precious is no longer in my hands.

That’s what this journey is teaching me. That love, given room to breathe, can transform. And that letting go doesn’t mean loss—it can be the doorway to even greater abundance.

Because who knew…

That letting those we love go free could actually feel good? That joy could multiply—not disappear—when we stop grasping and start trusting? That abundance waits patiently for us…if we dare to climb the path out of ignorance?