It took me 34 years to truly feel this: life isn’t a race, or a checklist, or even a series of goals waiting to be conquered. Life, I’m slowly learning, is a process. And more than that—it’s a patient unfolding of something deeper, quieter, and far more meaningful than anything I ever chased.
We’re taught from a young age to chase. Chase goals. Chase results. Chase success. We grow up believing we’re falling behind if we’re not constantly striving. But no one really teaches us how to live in the in-between. No one tells us that the most important part of life might actually be the space between where we were and where we’re trying to go.
For the longest time, I thought the goal was everything. Achieve it, tick it off, move to the next. But I’ve begun to notice a pattern: every time I reached something I thought would bring me peace, it only left me searching again. And now, slowly, I understand why.
The process—slow, uncertain, often uncomfortable—is where the real beauty lives.
There’s a kind of sacredness in not rushing. In letting things come in their own time. Whether it’s a dream still taking shape, or a part of you that’s learning to heal—everything needs space, time, and care. And maybe what we call delays are really just preparations.
I’ve come to see that stillness is not stagnation. Pauses are not problems. And slowness doesn’t mean failure. Some of the most important changes in me have happened in the quiet moments: when nothing visible was “happening,” but everything inside was shifting.
I used to believe everything was in my control—that I had to push, plan, and shape life with my own hands. But lately, I’ve begun to trust something else: divine timing. The kind of unfolding that doesn’t need to be rushed. The kind that brings the right people, the right lessons, the right opportunities—exactly when we’re ready, not when we’re impatient.
One of the most meaningful places this lesson has come alive for me is in my journey with QHHT. From the moment I found this work, I knew it was my soul’s path. It felt like home—something I was meant to offer. I completed my training in 2023 and felt deeply ready to serve. But the journey didn’t unfold the way I expected. I didn’t immediately find clients, and at times, I questioned whether I was doing something wrong.
But over time, I’ve come to trust that this in-between space is part of the becoming. It’s part of building the foundation—not just for a practice, but for a calling. My very first client, a fellow practitioner, was surprised to learn it was my first session. He said it felt as if I was experienced. That moment reminded me that when something aligns with your soul, it moves through you naturally. You don’t have to rush it—you just have to stay present and faithful to the process.
This shift hasn’t been loud. It’s been soft, slow, and deeply humbling. And the more I let go of the need to figure everything out, the more life begins to show me what’s meant to unfold.
There’s so much I still don’t know. The more I try to understand this world, the more mysterious it becomes. But maybe that’s the point—not to master it all, but to stay open and soft in the face of it. To live each day with presence, with vision in our hearts, but gentleness in our grip.
I’m still learning. But today, I’m learning to love the becoming, not just the arrival. And that, I think, is enough.
☺️☺️😇😇💝💝