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.

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.

We’re told intentional living starts at 5am with a perfect routine — but maybe it starts here: in one honest moment, where you choose what you actually need. A gentle reminder to drop the “shoulds” and come back to yourself.