Noticing What Matters
It’s been thirteen days since the year turned, and I’m noticing something I couldn’t quite name last January—a steadiness that lives in my body, not just in my intentions.
My nervous system feels calm. Not striving toward calm, not working to achieve calm—but genuinely regulated. I can feel the difference between last December and now: between knowing I needed rest and actually resting. Between observing what my body was asking for and responding to it.
What Stillness Actually Looks Like
Stillness isn’t abstract. It has texture and routine.
It’s the 1.5-hour deep tissue massage I don’t rush or feel guilty about. It’s scheduling time with Andrey, the osteopath who helps me release tension I didn’t even know I was holding. It’s lying on my Shakti mat, letting discomfort settle into relief.
It’s playing with my pup—not as a break from “real work” but as the work itself. Being fully present with my daughter without half my attention elsewhere. Reading a book in the middle of the day. Doing nothing—and calling it exactly what it is: necessary.
And the giving continues. Painting little tokens of love for my own joy—no strategy, no plan, no measuring stick. Just the practice, the philosophy, the lived experience: little tokens creating big ripples.
Responding, Not Just Observing
For years, I’ve noticed what my body needs: tight shoulders, shallow breathing, exhaustion. I knew rest mattered. But knowing and doing are different countries.
This year, something has shifted. I’m not just observing anymore—I’m responding. When my body says “stop,” I stop. When it asks for slowness, I slow down. When it needs touch, release, or stillness, I give it that.
The evidence is in how I feel: happier, calmer, steadier. There’s no background hum of anxiety about what I should be doing, who I should be reaching, or what I’m not accomplishing. The rhythm of my days has slowed. Writing comes when it’s true. Play comes naturally. Presence has replaced productivity as my metric.
The Enoughness of It All
I’m no longer asking: Is this enough? Is presence enough? Is giving enough? Is choosing my daughter’s childhood over business growth enough?
Being known for one thing—the tokens, the practice, the Ripple Station™—is not a limitation. It’s a relief. I don’t have to be everything. I don’t have to do everything.
This is enough. I am enough. The work is enough.
Not because I’ve achieved some milestone or proven something to anyone—but because I’ve removed the framework that made “enough” feel like a question in the first place.
What I’m Noticing
The stillness isn’t empty. It’s full—full of attention, full of presence, full of the small moments that make up a life actually lived.
Externally, there’s space between things. I’m not rushing from one commitment to the next. Internally, there’s a settled clarity I didn’t have last year. Not complacency—just clarity. Knowing what matters and having the courage to let everything else fall away.
Even as I continue my work—painting, writing, sharing—there’s no hunger to do more, no gnawing sense that I’m falling behind some invisible metric of success. Life feels measured in the quality of attention I give, not the quantity of output.
Stillness, presence, enoughness—they are not goals. They are lived.
And noticing them is what this early January feels like for me: a grounding, a quiet alignment, a gentle, deliberate way of stepping into the year.
