Learning to Trust the Next Step

Welcome back to another blurb from Soft Days Collective.

I hope your weekend is off to a good start and that you have an adventure or two planned, even if that adventure looks like staying home, lighting a candle, and moving slowly. Things are warming up here on the North Shore, and subtle signs of fool’s spring are in the air. The snow feels heavier, the light sticks around a little longer, and the woods feel like they are quietly stretching after a long sleep. That usually means we might have only ten more weeks of winter if we are lucky, though we all know winter here loves to linger.

Lately, I have been doing a lot of thinking about my future, where I want to go, and how I want to get there. I keep reflecting on past versions of myself, the ones who took risks, the ones who stayed when they should have left, and the ones who survived seasons they never thought they would. As some of you know, I have always taken the path less traveled, sometimes by choice and sometimes because life gently (or not so gently) pushed me that way. I have never fit into a neat timeline, and I am slowly learning that this is not something I need to fix. With the winds of change breathing down my neck, I have been sitting in the strange space between feeling stagnant and feeling on the edge of something new. Two very different feelings, both asking me to pay attention.

I really struggle with the idea of watching and waiting. I want answers. I want clarity. I want a map. The in-between feels messy and uncomfortable, and I tend to resist it with everything in me. While I can tough it out, I have also been trying to be more mindful about where my energy goes, what I say yes to, and how much I let small details steal my peace. I am learning to zoom out, to breathe deeper, and to remind myself that not everything needs to be figured out right now. Some days that looks like journaling and grounding. Other days it looks like crying in my car and then still showing up anyway. Both count. The growth has been quiet, but it has been real.

A few months ago, I was presented with an opportunity that has sent my brain into full spiral mode. I have made lists, pros and cons, imaginary timelines, and at least three different versions of an action plan. I like to know where I am headed. Having a sense of direction makes me feel safe. Being neurodivergent, uncertainty can feel especially loud. At the same time, I have been trying to build my flexibility muscle and listen more closely to my intuition, even when it does not match the plan I carefully created. That has been hard, humbling, and surprisingly freeing. After a lot of inner back-and-forth, I finally feel like I am inching toward the right next step.

I am not quite ready to share what this new move may be, mostly because it is still taking shape. But I can say that it feels aligned. It feels like a stretch in a good way. It feels like something that honors both who I am and who I am becoming. I believe it will be worth the time, energy, and commitment, and that it will open doors to more flexibility and potential stability down the road. If you are curious, I promise I will share more when the timing feels right. Consider this your little teaser.

When I look back, my life has been anything but linear. It has been full of detours, wrong turns that turned out to be right ones, doors slamming shut, and others cracking open when I least expected it. Still, somehow, things are falling into place. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But gently. There is a strange kind of peace that comes with setting boundaries, loosening your grip, and trusting the flow of things a little more. I am learning that it is okay to change. It is okay to want something different. It is okay to outgrow old versions of yourself.

I feel hopeful about what is ahead, even on the days when hope feels tender and fragile. I am deeply grateful for this little corner of the internet and for each of you who keeps showing up here. Thank you for reading, for holding space, and for walking alongside me in this season.

Until next time,

Stay soft in our loud world.