A January letter 💌

Reflection on new year, being behind and learning to trust my own pace

January has a way of making you feel rushed and behind in life.

It shows up like that inevitable meeting : report cards, sparkles all over vision boards, new goals and that promised potential.

Until now, I kept myself busy with things. I read while the ceiling fan hummed lazily above me. I spent hours leaning over my guitar, wondering if classical music could bloom from an acoustic, while somewhere outside a distant scooter rattled. I binged watched movies, letting tea cups line up on my quiet table. I definitely wasn’t avoiding anything.

“She said as she tried to avoid confessing it in this post. She was carrying a lot of guilt.”

It’s almost been two years since I quit my corporate job. I freeze at the thought of having to earn money again. I scan at the thought of an interview, alert to dodge the knife that might come stabbing out the computer screen.

I’m in my thirties and my parents, relatives, and society in general think I should have already been married by now. They nod to me in disappointment.

If my life were a movie, this is the part where the heroine’s life is supposed to slowly get better..

That idea doesn’t sound too bad, except real life isn’t a movie. Its arc stretches across years, maybe a lifetime, and the suffering nowhere feels as romanticised as they show.

So I did what I felt I was supposed to do. I made a long list of things I wanted to do in the next phase of my life.

Quite a few things came to mind.

Money, of course.

A partner - a good one, maybe, but not right now.

A home in Italy.

Let’s stay in reality for the moment.

Just as quickly, I was overwhelmed, felt pressured and stared discouragingly at the pages of my journal.

In the stillness of my room, I dared to look inward.

What do you really need? I asked softly albeit meekly.

And I felt … I felt the thing you feel on a Saturday afternoon when the sun is shining outside, warm and lazy, the thing you feel when the air smells faintly of dry earth and jasmine, when cotton clothes brush against your skin softly, and the distant street sounds..an idling bike, a crow calling, a gentle breeze through the leaves; one that makes the world feel familiar, unhurried, safe.

It felt like .. being safe.

It felt like knowing that I’ll be okay no matter what happens; that feeling uncertain, being behind, trying and winning or failing, being confused, or disappointing people won’t actually destroy me.

I don’t need a long list of goals.

I need acceptance - of myself.

To exist simply with just a few things that genuinely nourish my body, mind and soul. The slow warmth of the sun on my arms. The quiet hum of the fan. The soft rustle of cotton as I stretch. The smell of tea brewing in the afternoon. The lull of distant voices and everyday sounds moving at their own pace.

So this year, I’m choosing to focus on very little.

Last year was full of emotional ups and downs, quiet growth that no one could see, self-compassion, and learning how to just exist.

This year, I’m carrying forward what works.

I don’t know what my future holds. But if I can stay present in my life, feel safe and create something that feels honest and true to me, I’ll consider this a good year.

Won’t you subscribe and linger a little while longer? ( no pressure, just presence)