Are things going my way? I honestly don't know. Certainly, things aren't going the way I think I want. But maybe, just maybe, they're going my way only I don't know what "my way" is. I've given up trying to figure it out.

Not by choice. By choice, I'd like things to go the way I want them to go. Or at least the way I think I want. But I'm willing to entertain the idea that there is some Plan, even though I don't know what it is.

If it were up to me, I would like to schedule something — short term, long term — and then watch it happen the way I envisioned. I'd like to make a list, break it down into steps that need to be accomplished, and day by day check off what I've done until finally the task is completed or the vacation taken or the house painted or the job well done.

Take my health, for example. I've reached that stage where no matter what I think is going to happen, something else happens. I can't count on anything. When I awake in the morning I don't know how much energy I'll have, what will hurt, what will require attention, whether I'll need an unscheduled doctor's appointment or whether I'll be able to go to work and finish the project I'm working on as I had planned. It's a crapshoot.

There's no use getting frustrated, or I'd be frustrated all the time. No use getting angry. No use kicking and screaming. No use at all. None. Zero. It doesn't help. If I was Israeli, I'd shrug my shoulders and say: Mah l'asot? "What's t'do?"

But I have another mantra for times like this. I say to myself: Just let go. Whatever I thought was going to happen, I have to give it up and go with what's happening instead. My daily life has become like an unfolding mystery with no connection to anything that I've intended. Surprise! Surprise! I get to see what my life is as it unfolds, and the story line is not of my making nor does it necessarily conform to any plot that I had expected.

Don't get me wrong. There is no great drama unfolding in my life. The unexpected emerging storyline is not the adventure that I once thought my life would be. There are no treks into the jungle. No mountains being scaled. Not even many big breakthroughs of wisdom and understanding.

There's simply the unknown of whether I'll spend the next hours in bed. Or waiting in a crowded room with others needing treatment. Or at my desk doing my work. Or shuffling forms at Bituach Leumi (National Insurance) or Kupat Cholim (my health insurance provider). Or sitting at dinner with the family.

Little unknowns. Little mysteries. Little adventures. Little challenges of the spirit. Tiny moments affronting whatever equilibrium I try to maintain.

But all these little moments, these unknowns seem to have added up to something. There is a certain freedom I feel. A sense of excitement that transcends the momentary upsets or depressions and that coexists with them. There is a relief at giving up expectations and the resentments and disappointments that often accompany them. There is a new sense of thanksgiving when the simplest things go my way, or when the things that go an unexpected way turn out for the good.

I feel like my life is in G‑d's hands. And I like that. I don't always like what He does. But I like the feeling that He's running the show in such a daily, detailed way. I like giving up to Him. I like yielding and letting go. Letting go… Just let go… Breathe and let go.

I remember when it was not like this. I remember when I was strong and healthy, when I bounced out of bed each morning, my agenda on my mind, ideas flowing even while in the shower. Plans and schedules. Tasks. Projects. Time and resources. Staff and meetings.

There was an edge to me. Sharp and precise. Energy. Focus. Drive and ambition.

I needed and expected things to go my way, I would make them go my way. And when they didn't go my way I would look for the fault and blame, my displeasure and frustration permeating my words and actions.

Of course, I tried to leave these frustrations at work, to keep my expectations and manipulations to a minimum at home. But it didn't work. It seems that when you approach the world as if you control it, this attitude follows you about wherever you go. Soon, you expect your wife and children to behave as you want, and home activities should proceed with the same efficiency and schedule as work.

You are master of your fate. In control of your destiny. Responsible for your outcomes. Able to affect others and the world to conform to your expectations and needs.

And then one day you awake and find some lumps on your body. And these turn out to be a disease that will eat away at your strength. That will require you to yield to treatments and schedules that will extract from you control over your time and your energy.

You will wait for hours for blood tests and doctor's appointments. You will be in and out of the hospital at unexpected times. You will not be able to plan your work because you will never know if you will be at work the next day or the day after or if you will have the energy to get out of bed or to sit at your desk.

You will wonder at your worth as you transition from Mr. Productive to Mr. Sick. You will desperately seek your value, as all the criteria upon which you once felt valued or valued yourself disappear.

You will wonder that you are still loved even though you are disappointing those around you by lying in bed. Once the paradigm of dependability, you have become ultimately undependable and your self-esteem is being beaten into dust.

And with all that and more, finally there comes a letting go, a letting go, just let go. At first there is a sigh of resignation and despair as the words cross your lips. "Let go. Let go. Just let go."

But as the days and weeks and months and years pass and you say it over and over, again and again, letting go, letting go, a smile emerges. Let go... Let go…

Finally, I can let go.

You remember several decades ago in a group therapy session when you stood on a chair with others standing below you. The therapist said: Turn around, close your eyes, and fall backward into the waiting arms of the people below. You remember how scary it was: would they be there? Would you tumble to the floor and injure yourself? You remember doing it and being caught. You remember the thrill of those few, brief seconds as you fell, wondering what would be. You remember the sense of trust and faith that lasted for too short a time but that was so delightful while it was there.

You remember these things as you let go — let go to the weakness, to the unknown, to the sadness, to the future, to the new you that you are getting to know that is still loved in spite of the disappointments you create, the projects that remain unfinished, the trips that never get taken, the help that you can no longer give at home.

Let go, Jay. Let go, and let G‑d catch you as you fall. Let go, and feel the thrill.

Let go to trust and faith.

Let go, let go and let this disease be the catalyst to your freedom.

Let go, let go and be free.