Book 10: THE ART OF LETTING GO
In August of 2025, I went back to visit my home country of Slovenia. I hadn’t been there since Covid broke out in 2020 which meant I hadn’t seen my grandparents for 6 years. What I thought would be a sentimental voyage turned into a trip of a lifetime. But before we dive into that, let me (re)acquaint you with Slovenia a little bit. :)
Cozily nestled between Italy and Austria, my homeland is shaped like a chicken (exhibit A).
It has a population of only 2 million, but that didn’t stop us from creating our very own language.
Within our borders (albeit tiny), we host both the Alps and the Adriatic Sea which effectively means you can go from skiing to swimming in the ocean in under 2 hours.
Back to our trip: we landed in Rome in late August (read: cheaper flight tickets) and drove up through Italy. As we were approaching the Slovenian border, the landscapes slowly started melting into a lush, deep green; the kind that I had almost forgotten exists. A small two-lane highway weaved through fields, as far as the eye could see. The Alps grew tall out of the forests beneath them - jagged and majestic - towering gently above the greenery; not daunting, but kind and protective. I experienced a tsunami of emotions I had not anticipated even remotely. I had felt so American for so long yet here was the land that was my home, my origin, my blueprint - the air and the soil that are intertwined in my DNA. I could feel a tightness in my chest seeing all this; it was as if I was hit with the sudden, complete reminder of who I truly am.
It felt overwhelming in its seeming novelty. This is the country where I spent the first 14 years of my life, some of my most formative moments took place here, yet its appearance struck and surprised me completely. I stared outside my car window, taking photos in silence so as to not let myself forget all of this again. At the same time, I kept asking myself - how could I forget all this? How cruel that life moves so quickly and allows you to fade away such beautiful memories. It was a question I kept coming back to throughout the trip.
But before I get too caught up in all of this sentimentality, allow me to show you some wonderful places in Slovenia. :)
This is a famous rest stop called Trojane. But famous why, you ask? They make the most iconic version of the Slovenian “krof”: a beignet-like fried dough that is filled with apricot jam and topped with powdered sugar. This specific variety is known for its large size and extra bready dough - a must visit. :)
This is the small Alpine town of Bled which has greatly increased in its popularity over the last few years. It is most famous for its gemstone blue, crystal clear lake and a little church-topped island nestled right in the middle of it. Overlooking the lake is a 130 meter cliff and a castle (very Arendelle hehe) that is believed to have been founded around 1004. Yes, you read that number correctly.
This is the capital city of Ljubljana where I was born and raised, where my parents spent most of their lives, where they went to school and got married, and where my grandparents still live. Its origins date back to Ancient Roman times when it was known as Emona - there are still Roman city wall ruins running through parts of the city. In the images above, you can see the National Philharmonic where I performed a few times; the café where our parents would take me and Klemen on special occasion Sundays when we attended mass at one of the fancy churches in the city center. You can see the remarkable 11th century Ljubljana castle that was in the background of all of my childhood memories, seen so many times that it seemed to have been diluted to humdrum, albeit ornate, scenery.
With each new cobblestone street walked, I kept asking myself why on Earth I didn’t see this magic when I lived here. It wasn’t until I spent 13 years away, seen and experienced so much more of the world, that I realized just what an incredible place I had the fortune of growing up in - laced with history and a deep awareness of that which came before.
I felt so disconnected from this world, like I was peeking in through the tinies of openings - observing, but never truly joining. An odd feeling in and of itself, much more so when it’s your home, your people that you’re peeking into.
Over the next two weeks, we visited my grandparents and grand aunt, drove around Slovenia and eventually found ourselves back in Rome. The night before our flight back to San Francisco, an image popped into my Instagram feed (Mark is never shaking the eavesdropping allegations after this):
It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Throughout the trip, I kept finding myself at a loss for words, made breathless by the beauty unfolding before me. Late nights strolls in the heady August heat, streets alive with people and conversation and music. The gentle breeze in oak trees of the city center park, the sun setting majestically behind the horizon of the Tyrrhenian sea. It was all so perfect, yet so incredibly fragile. I could feel the moment fleeting and slipping away even as it was still unfolding. I had experienced so much in such a short period of time that my brain was slowly catching up, processing everything that happened. Two days after we landed back in San Francisco, I wrote the opening lines of what is now The Art Of Letting Go.
I kept fiddling around with the lyrics and figuring out what I was trying to say - a few hours latwe came this (the title of this audio is what I named the recording in my Voice Memos):
As I was going through my phone trying to find audio recordings for this little blog, I came across an alternative chorus I had written for this song (and completely forgotten about). Turns out, I had this idea on the same day in the evening:
I remember being so emotionally ready to finish the song that day, but I needed an overarching thought that would wrap my song into a cohesive whole. I once again turned to my trusty friend Pinterest, and started scrolling through my pride and joy: my meticulously curated feed. It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes until my thumb landed on this. Instantly, it captured what I had failed to properly articulate and I decided right then and there that this would be my song’s title and core thesis.
The next day, I spent the afternoon recording the final vocals for what I then thought would be the next single (it’s now coming out in March) and by the time I was done at 6pm, I thought I’d take another look at the Letting Go song I had started yesterday. I was already on a metaphorical musical roll so what the heck, might as well give it a shot.
As I was listening back to the recordings and ideas I had written down the day before, I realized what the song should ultimately be about. When I first wrote the opening lines of the song (“I guess it fits it’s raining, even the sky is crying”), I was referring to our drive to the Rome airport when it was raining. But I suddenly remembered the heavy summer downpour we got caught in after leaving my great aunt’s house. A Slovenian song was playing on the radio - I vividly remember it because it completely tore thorugh my heart in that moment - it was about leaving your homeland of Slovenia. Here it is in Slovenian (and the English translation on the right):
Green rosemary, let it be your keepsake,
pin it somewhere close to your heart and leave with it,
and let it remind you, wherever you may be,
that in the valley beneath Triglav, you grew up into a young woman.
Green rosemary, let it be your keepsake,
when you leave us with a ring on your hand,
and let it remind you of everyone back home,
and of me, who still carries you in my heart.
Be happy there, where a new world is waiting for you,
far from all of us and far from your childhood years,
but every now and then, come back home again.
Green rosemary, let it be your keepsake,
pin it somewhere close to your heart and leave with it,
and let it remind you of everyone back home,
and of me, who still carries you in my heart.
I’m tearing up reading these lyrics now and typing this, but on that day it was even more intense. There I was in the backseat of our car with my brother, our lives now completely evolved and implanted in California. We’re doing the things we’ve always only dreamt of doing, but being back in Slovenia reminded me of the cruel price we’ve had to pay for it. Our grandparents and grand aunt who raised us, who made us who we are, were now left behind on their own. In my mind, they froze in place, Slovenia froze in place - everything just waiting for me to return. But this trip pulled the veil off of that incomprehensibly silly, naïve illusion: time waits for no one. Time doesn’t care. Time simply ticks away, ever-present in the background, ever-so quiet. My song was not about a beautiful, memorable trip. My song was about the most fundamental node of our reality: choices. The irreversible choices that take us down life’s paths and the alternatives that each of those choices effectively erases. I felt it all pour out of me: my biggest fear of time slipping away, of being caught off guard by time’s casual ruthlessness. I was finally putting my feelings into words and was barely able to stop crying enough to record this:
It wasn’t a flashy, catchy, fun song but it captured something innately human. I didn’t care if no one would ever listen to it, I just cared that I wrote it. I sensed a deep need to record and release it, to have it as a keepsake of my experience in this world, a proof of existence.
I finished the rest of the lyrics a few days later and made the final decision to release it in January. Here’s a Voice Memo of the song I recorded at my living room piano:
I initially thought it was going to be a piano and vocal-only song, but eventually decided live strings would help create a more melancholic, nostalgic atmosphere. I recorded the piano in a single take to try and keep it as raw as possible, then sent that off to Yoed Nir who arranged and recorded all of the strings you hear in the final recording.
There are no spicy synths or effects; just live strings, piano and a single vocal. As someone who’s greatest sonic vice is a penchant for lush, layered production, it took great restraint to do something so simple and straightforward. I wanted the song to feel deeply personal and intimate, like it was made just for you; with a complete focus on the lyrics.
With the song now complete, I was in a bit of a rush to figure out its accompanying visual identity if I was going to make the January release deadline. I kept thinking of a physical item or activity that could both symbolize the act of letting go while still look engaging and aesthetically pleasing. After more Pinterest scrolling (I really should start paying them out royalties at this point!!) and late night shower brainstorming, I had my idea: balloons.
This is the cover idea I sent to Vida Igličar (Slovenian author, illustrator and graphic designer whose magic touch is responsible for all of my covers since 2022).
And a few weeks later, Vida blessed my inbox with these:
We decided on the smaller title lettering, with an extended arm so that more of the blue and white striped sleeve could be seen.
In this same time period, I filmed the music video for the song in one of my favorite places around where we live - the Point Reyes National Seashore. About a two hours drive away from our house lies a wonderfully melancholic piece of the California coast, often shrouded in a mysterious fog and abundant in moss-covered rolling hills. The plan was to try and film a one-take version of the song where I would walk and lip sync, carrying a multitude of pastel balloons (à la Pixar’s Up). For an increased feeling of nostalgia, I wanted to slow the video down - it also felt perfectly aligned with the song’s message of the futility of human resistance to time. That meant we had to film everything at twice the speed, at a 60fps frame rate. This is the audio that I lip-synced to when filming:
I wanted the outfit to be simple, yet have a distinct whimsical quality to it. The yellow rain boots were a must - they felt appropriately Disney-esque. Then, I found this gorgeous nautical-inspired trench coat online and absolutely had to secure it for the shoot - it perfectly tows the line between effortless and memorable. I was originally going to wear the headband with my hair down, but it turned out to be a very windy day and we made a decision on the spot to braid it and tie a little blue satin ribbon at the end (thank you mom!!!).
The video was also filmed by my now professional videographer / photographer / filmmaker mom, with the helium-filled balloons provided by my dad (who inflated them on the spot). We filmed 12 different walking music video takes on my iPhone and I ended up using the very last one as the final music video.
At the risk of sounding insufferable, I am profoundly proud of this song. It captured something deeply personal that turned out to be something overwhelmingly universal. It’s not meant to provide an answer or a solution, but it might offer comfort in the acknowledgment of a feeling. All of us, at one point in our lives, have (or will) experienced time’s tragic touch - in the mirror, in our parents, in our hometown. I hope to listen back to this song in thirty years and feel its heartache sting all over again - the pain of loving and letting go, the gratefulness to have been able to experience it in the first place, and a reminder to try and savor each fleeting moment we are granted in this magical, wondrous world.