Ever see a rambunctious two-year-old run around the house grabbing everything in sight? Or trying to open all the presents under the tree? And then the two-year-old becomes 12 and then 22 and then all the way up to 72 and beyond, amassing stuff all along the way.

And remember, if you were blessed to have children, the struggle of letting go when your son or daughter left the nest? At some point, you must say to yourself: “I’ve done my part and now it’s up to them.” And your son or daughter must say, “I can take it from here.”

Tina tells the story about when she said to her two sons several years ago, “Here’s what I think you should do.” In one voice, they responded, “Mom, when we want your opinion, we will ask you!” (To her credit, she heard them.)

And now, many of us are just a little old. Or older as, in my case, 78 years old. The time is now, it’s clear, to let go. My two sons and two stepsons are on their own as they have been for years; happily, I have maintained fine relationships with all of them. Gradually, gently, they’ve begun to assume the role of concerned “parents,” wondering how we’re doing and what our plans might be for the future and maybe, just maybe, it might be time to downsize.

The biggest “letting go” problem in our case, at this point, is the stuff. Rather than grabbing it up, like the two-year-olds we once were, we have the challenge of tossing it out. And that means asking, “What do we really need?” (Answer: Probably very little) “What do our kids really want?” (Answer: Even less.)

It would be nice to be able to snap our hands and have everything magically sorted into three piles: 1. Must keep; 2. Give away; and 3. Pitch.

Although we’ve begun this long painful process, we have a long way to go. I’m confident that many readers have faced (or will soon face) this same challenge. Good luck to you. Good luck to us.

Letting go also means gracefully giving up things we used to do. I, for example, am on the verge of giving up golf, although it used to be my sport. I don’t want to play enough to try to get back to form, and I don’t enjoy playing when my game has fallen so far. Also, I’ve had to give up running, because of lung and heart issues. And future foreign travel seems unlikely, although we’re not yet willing to give up on that possibility.

On a brighter note, letting go means one no longer need worry about keeping up with the Joneses. Who cares? And you don’t need to impress anyone by buying the “right” brand or going to the most “in” restaurant. (Actually, I learned the folly of those latter pursuits in 1968 when I left an advertising job in NYC to come to Maine). Again, who cares? You don’t need to be all in a dither about keeping up with the times. Have you ever, like me, seen a television commercial and not had the foggiest idea what they’re trying to sell?

Letting go means not sweating the small stuff and realizing that the vast majority of day-to-day concerns fall into that very category: “the small stuff.” Care deeply about what really matters; care less about the small bumps in the road. Or as a young man was overheard saying when facing a history test at Harvard: “It’s just a (short term for flatulence) in the wind.”

Letting go means you’re not necessarily constrained by convention. I recently saw Sean Penn, the actor and activist, on television talking about his latest humanitarian concern. His hair was totally askew, a rat’s nest, a mess. I immediately said, “Sean, you’re the man; you’re my kind.” Tina managed to laugh in spite of herself, knowing my less than perfect ways when it comes to hair management.

And that, I guess, is the major point. Own and celebrate who you are. And keep on laughing while you’re learning to let go.

David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.