Quiet Opening — and a Notice Given
I’m not starting 2026 with a manifesto. No word of the year.
No demand that I become sharper, faster, or more impressive by spring. No
declaration of the goals that I “must” do, then accounting for them (done or
not).
I’m starting the year the way I start most things now: by
listening. Listening to my body, to the whispers on the wind, and to the voices
in my mind.
The last few years taught me that reinvention isn’t loud.
It’s patient. You don’t burn your old life down—you compost it. You let what’s
been survive long enough to feed what comes next.
I’ve lived so many versions of myself. Some were polished.
Some were exhausted. Some were trying very hard to fit inside systems that
never fit back. Some of them almost died. Yet, all of them belonged. All of
them brought me here. Eventually, you
can read more about those versions in my book (when I publish!).
This year, I’m interested in sustainability—not as a slogan,
but as a bodily truth. The kind that asks: What do I want to be doing? What can I keep
doing without breaking myself? What rhythms actually support my nervous system?
What if “just enough” is not a failure?
I’m learning to tend instead of strive. To choose work that
doesn’t inflame my body. To let creativity be nourishment, not extraction. To
return to small rituals that remind me I am part of something older and wilder
than productivity.
So, 2026 is a transition year. Not a year of quitting—but a
year of loosening. Of unlearning urgency. Of planning with care instead of
panic. Of allowing myself the grace to do what I want instead of what is
expected.
And with the listening comes clarity.
I intend to hand in my
pass to the rat race at the end of 2026. No dramatic exit. No scorched earth. Just
a conscious decision to stop participating in systems that require self-erasure
as the entry fee. This isn’t about opting out of responsibility or pretending
money doesn’t matter. It’s about refusing to confuse exhaustion with virtue. About
believing that a life can be both responsible and humane. By the end of 2026, I
want my days shaped less by quotas and more by rhythms. Less by survival and
more by intention. Less by fear and more by enoughness.
I don’t know exactly what replaces the pass I’m turning in. I
only know it won’t require me to disappear to earn a living. But I do know that
there will be travel. There will be creative time. There will be more time
spent with friends and family. So, this year, my Blog will hold the fragments,
the experiments, the rituals, the doubts, and the small brave choices along the
way.
Make no mistake: This is NOT a how-to guide. Not a brand
pivot. It is a record of becoming something truer, saner, healthier, and more
connected to what truly matters.
If you’re here too—listening, loosening, or even quietly
planning your own exit—welcome. We don’t have to sprint our way out. We’re
allowed to leave well.
Namaste,
chaotic
I’m starting the year the way I start most things now: by listening. Listening to my body, to the whispers on the wind, and to the voices in my mind.
The last few years taught me that reinvention isn’t loud. It’s patient. You don’t burn your old life down—you compost it. You let what’s been survive long enough to feed what comes next.
I’ve lived so many versions of myself. Some were polished. Some were exhausted. Some were trying very hard to fit inside systems that never fit back. Some of them almost died. Yet, all of them belonged. All of them brought me here. Eventually, you can read more about those versions in my book (when I publish!).
This year, I’m interested in sustainability—not as a slogan, but as a bodily truth. The kind that asks: What do I want to be doing? What can I keep doing without breaking myself? What rhythms actually support my nervous system? What if “just enough” is not a failure?
I’m learning to tend instead of strive. To choose work that doesn’t inflame my body. To let creativity be nourishment, not extraction. To return to small rituals that remind me I am part of something older and wilder than productivity.
So, 2026 is a transition year. Not a year of quitting—but a year of loosening. Of unlearning urgency. Of planning with care instead of panic. Of allowing myself the grace to do what I want instead of what is expected.
And with the listening comes clarity.
I don’t know exactly what replaces the pass I’m turning in. I only know it won’t require me to disappear to earn a living. But I do know that there will be travel. There will be creative time. There will be more time spent with friends and family. So, this year, my Blog will hold the fragments, the experiments, the rituals, the doubts, and the small brave choices along the way.
Make no mistake: This is NOT a how-to guide. Not a brand pivot. It is a record of becoming something truer, saner, healthier, and more connected to what truly matters.
If you’re here too—listening, loosening, or even quietly planning your own exit—welcome. We don’t have to sprint our way out. We’re allowed to leave well.
Namaste,
chaotic
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