Sometimes life gets stuck on the same track.
The song you’re swaying to isn’t bad or painful.
But everything becomes just quietly repetitive.
You look up, and whole years have slipped by. Not because anything was wrong, but because everything was the same. No change of school year, job, relationship, or rhythm to mark the passage of time.
In many ways, the last few years were like that for me.
And it was a great song to be stuck on. A melody I loved. But even the best songs lose their magic when played on repeat for too long. Eventually, the notes start to blur. You stop really hearing them.
Then, without warning, life shifted tempo.
We bought a house in a new city.
On a whim.
Sort of.
We hadn’t been looking.
We weren’t thinking about moving.
Quite the opposite.
From the moment we walked into our last home, we called it our “forever house.” I’d never known I could feel that way about a place. I thought we’d live out the rest of our decades there. That home holds pieces of my heart.
But the city we were in? It was slowly draining us.
Too much friction.
Too little aliveness.
Too much giving, not enough receiving.
We were constantly running on an energy deficit and calling it normal.
So, we booked a house in a city that energizes us. Just for a month.
We still weren’t planning to move. We just needed a top-up. A reminder of how it feels to feel good.
But the clarity that seems obvious now? It wasn’t obvious then.
Because when you’re living inside a story—like this is our forever house—you can’t always see that a new story is already unfolding.
Looking back, it feels like all the pieces were waiting.
Waiting for us to say yes.
Waiting for us to say we’re ready for a new track to play.
The moment we let ourselves say, “Maybe we could live here,” everything sped up.
The doors flew open.
The path cleared.
There was no friction, just crazy fast momentum.
And it’s given me a few lessons I want to remember:
1. When you’re open and the timing is right, things can move fast if you allow them to.
So often I slow myself down, not from healthy discernment, but from fear. From the idea that it’s my job to catch the thing that might go wrong, instead of being open to what’s meant to go right.
2. Sometimes you need a bridge between states of being.
When the ground beneath you is shifting, it’s okay to have one foot in the old and one in the new. Moving fast is disorienting. Give yourself time to land. Don’t force closure before it’s ready. Trust the body’s knowing. It will come.
3. Talk it out.
Navigating this change with my husband has been such a gift. In sharing our shifting thoughts aloud, we’ve surfaced truths we didn’t know we were carrying. We’ve been able to name what’s closing, and slowly shape what’s emerging.
So if you’re standing at the edge of change as 2026 begins…
Be gentle with yourself.
Let the messiness be.
Let the process work for you.
We are relational beings, with each other and with the world we choose to engage with. The choices you make will change you if you allow them to.
Let them.
Let yourself be moved.
Let yourself be changed.
And let yourself be beautifully, tenderly, human.
