32 going 33

Apr’26

For a long time, I wanted to be somewhere else.

Not in a wanderlust way. Growing up, I spent more than half my life counting down to a version of life that hadn’t arrived yet — willing time to move faster, hoping for something to pull me out of where I was and place me somewhere I could finally feel free. I must have imagined countless versions of what that life could look like, though I’m not sure I really knew what I was looking for. When that day came, it came unplanned. At the time, it felt like a huge weight had lifted off my body. I didn’t know days could feel that clear, or that I could just be. I was in my mid-twenties then, but the distance between then and now feels enormous.

Now, as I’m approaching my mid-thirties, I can see how that stage of my life shaped who I am today, and for that, I’m grateful. Looking back on the past few years with a little more awareness, I’ve noticed three things I understand better now than I did before.

Home is something you make.
This is something I know more concretely than most. It took longer than it should have, and it wasn’t an easy journey to the newfound sense of security. I’m still learning not to take it for granted. The things I once wished for on countless nights can quietly fade into the background in a noisy world — the safe space I come back to, the person who gives me room to simply be, and a mind that feels a little more at peace.

Enough is a practice.
I’ve never been very good at being still. Even on weekends, even on holidays, some part of me is calculating: am I doing enough, making enough, becoming enough? I've been learning slowly, mostly through small things. Baking taught me that you can't rush the process, you can't be efficient about it. The dough rests when it needs to rest. I'm trying to let myself do the same. Somewhere along the way, I started thinking more about what “enough” actually means. What it looks like for me, and whether knowing it would change the way I live. So that, at the end of it all, I can say I lived not wastefully, but fully.

You don't need a map.
I used to need to know the destination before I could take the first step. Every trip planned, every move considered, every outcome overthought so nothing could catch me off guard. Somewhere in the last few years, that grip loosened. I’ve come to understand that things can still be okay, even without knowing. That the beauty is in the figuring out, in the process, not the destination. I like not knowing where I’m going. I like that there are still so many possibilities, and that each day gets to begin fresh. One thing I've been quietly looking forward to - six months on the road with no real plan.

Here I am, gathering the pieces of my just enough.