A lesson from my father I almost missed, until I learned to listen with love.

In 2010, I walked into a Landmark Education session thinking I was just going to improve as a leader. What I walked away with instead was a life-altering lesson on ego, relationships, and letting go.

That lesson saved me from carrying a regret I wouldn’t have been able to bear.

Because two years later, in 2012, my father passed away.
And had I not had that conversation with him — had I not let go when I did — I would have spent a lifetime burdened with words unspoken and love unheard.

Let me tell you what happened.

A Story About a Monkey — and Me

During the Landmark session, our facilitator told a story that shook me:

“There’s a monkey in a cage. The bars are wide enough for the monkey to slip its hand out. Outside the cage lies a banana. The monkey grabs it. But now, with a clenched fist, it can’t get its hand back through the bars.

The only way out is to let go. But the monkey refuses. It keeps trying, keeps struggling, keeps hurting.

And so it suffers — not because of the cage, but because of its refusal to release what it thought it needed.”

Everyone in the room was quiet.
But inside me, a storm was raging.

Because I realized I was that monkey.

And the banana?
It was my ego — especially in how I was relating to my father.

My Father, My Ego, My Guilt

For years, I carried a stubborn belief that my father didn’t believe in me.

He’d ask, “How are you doing? Are you stable?”
He wanted me to choose a simple, secure path — to live a grounded life. He was concerned about my direction, my choices, my future.

But all I heard was discouragement.

All I saw in him was someone who wanted to limit me.
So I argued. I rebelled. I told myself, “One day, I will prove him wrong.”

Every “How are you?” from him felt like a challenge.
And my ego built a wall — brick by brick — until I had shut out his love and concern completely.

But that story about the monkey?
It broke through.

The Conversation That Freed Me

That evening after the session, I did something I hadn’t done in years: I spoke to my father.

Not to argue. Not to prove anything.

Just to listen.

Just to see him — not as an obstacle to my ambition, but as a human being who had always loved me in the only way he knew how.

That conversation changed everything.

We didn’t solve every issue.
But something unspoken softened. A little space opened up. The heaviness that I had carried for so long — the need to be “right,” the story that “he didn’t understand me” — began to melt.

I was no longer fighting him in my head.
I was connecting with him in my heart.

Two Years Later, He Was Gone

When my father passed away in 2012, I mourned.
But I didn’t feel guilt.

And that made all the difference.

Because I had let go — not of my dreams, but of my ego.
Not of my path, but of my pain.

That one honest conversation gave me peace that I hold onto even today.

Had I not had that conversation in 2010, I would have carried a heavy regret for the rest of my life — a wound far deeper than words can describe.

But because I did, I can say this today:
I saw my father, and I allowed him to see me.

We Think We’re Proving a Point. But What Are We Really Proving?

In hindsight, I see my father’s questions were never about control.
They were about care.
But my ego distorted it into opposition.

I was so busy trying to win — trying to prove myself — that I didn’t even realize I was losing the very relationship that mattered most.

A Question for You

So, I ask you, from one imperfect human to another:

Is there someone in your life you’re resisting — not because they are wrong, but because your ego is too loud to hear their love?

It’s easy to believe our stories.
It’s hard to drop them.

But the freedom we’re searching for is often just one honest conversation away.

Let go.
Say what you need to say.
Listen, not to respond — but to truly hear.

You never know how much time you have left.

In Memory of My Father

I write this with deep love and gratitude for my father —
A man who always stood by me, even when I was too blind to see it.

Thank you for loving me in your way.
And thank you for forgiving me when I finally opened my heart.