I’m sitting here in thought, wondering about my next move—or if I even need to make one. The unknown feels so different now. It doesn’t scare me anymore. At the same time, I don’t want to sit waiting for something to happen if I’m meant to take action.

Of course, I’m still writing—adding to my blog and book. Outside of that, I’ve been resting. Just being.

Last month I was more social: two back-to-back beach weekends and Gena’s birthday party earlier in the month. Now I’m thinking about taking a trip once a month. Maybe a road trip, maybe flying—something that reminds me that life is always unfolding.

At this point, I’m preparing to be on the floor at work now that training is ending soon. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d still be here. I imagined that my writing would’ve already opened doors, that opportunities would’ve found me by now. That’s the dreamer in me.

But here’s what’s different: the physical reality has settled in, and I’m not upset about it. The old me would’ve been. She would’ve seen this as a setback, a reason to panic or hustle harder. But now, I don’t see it as a negative—just different.

Instead of being so focused (or distracted) by the spiritual world, I’ve come back to my present reality. I’m embracing living at home with my parents. I’m appreciating the mundane. Resting.

I don’t know what’s next. But I do know this: I won’t stress myself trying to figure it out. I’ve done that my entire life. So I’ll continue to just be, trusting that I’m doing everything I should be doing—even if it doesn’t look like what I imagined.