After burnout, I didn’t want a new hustle — I wanted a new way of being.

Somewhere between 26 and 32, I started shrinking my desires, believing I was too old, too late, too much. But I’m learning that wanting isn’t dangerous—and naming what we want is its own quiet rebellion.

I used to think life was about getting to the next station. Now I’m learning that the real magic is in the ride itself—and that the in-between might just be where we finally feel at home.

On April 2, I was laid off from my six-figure job, and everything changed. Instead of rushing into the next chapter, I chose to slow down, start over, and document the journey.

What if boring wasn’t a sign you’re doing life wrong — but proof you’re finally coming home to yourself? A personal essay on romanticizing the mundane, reclaiming rest, and honoring the quieter seasons of becoming.