The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

Yesterday’s reflection from Day 29 has been echoing in my mind all day. The questions about fulfillment — the why behind the work I do — have only grown louder in the quiet that followed. It’s as though slowing down, even briefly, allowed space for something deeper to surface. And with that space came more questions.

I’ve been thinking about how easily we bury ourselves in busyness. How ambition and routine can keep us from noticing the weight we carry. But when the rhythm shifts and the noise fades, the questions we’ve been sidestepping rise up all at once: What is all this for? Where is it leading me? Does any of it matter in the way I hope it does?

On my drive home, the song The Riddle by Five for Fighting played, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was speaking directly to me. There’s a line about how life’s big questions can feel unanswerable — how we’re always searching for clarity but often find ourselves lost in the process. It reminded me of Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning (1946), where he wrote that purpose isn’t always found in clear answers but in the act of making meaning from the lives we live — even when we feel uncertain.

And maybe that’s what’s truly unsettling: uncertainty. I want to know that the work, the effort, the choices I make will add up to something that matters. That it won’t all feel hollow in the end. But perhaps the search itself is where the meaning lies. Maybe asking the questions, even without immediate answers, is the real work.

This isn’t the first time these thoughts have come up, but today they feel heavier. Maybe it’s because I can sense how short life really is. Or maybe it’s because I see how easy it is to get swept into motion, to chase accomplishments or distractions just to avoid feeling the weight of not knowing. I don’t want to lose sight of what actually matters along the way.

I don’t have a tidy conclusion for this entry — and maybe that’s the point. There isn’t always a clean answer to life’s “riddles.” But I do know this: these questions are worth sitting with. I don’t want to cover them up with another layer of busyness just to feel in control.

So for now, I’ll keep asking. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it feels like I’m searching in the dark. Because maybe, as Frankl suggested, meaning doesn’t always come from finding the answer — but from how we live while we’re still asking.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If you’re carrying your own “riddles,” know that you’re not alone. Sometimes the most meaningful thing we can do is give ourselves the space to ask the hard questions.

References:

Frankl, V. E. (1946). Man’s Search for Meaning. Beacon Press.

Title inspired by the song “The Riddle” by Five for Fighting.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

After a string of slower days, today felt like a quiet reset. There’s something about Mondays that invites you to start over, even if it’s just in small ways. The to-do list wasn’t anything extraordinary — the same work tasks, the same household chores — but there was a different energy behind it. A sense that I could begin again.

Psychologists talk about the fresh start effect (Dai et al., 2014) — the way certain moments in time, like the start of a new week, can boost motivation. It’s as if the calendar gives you permission to turn the page. I felt a bit of that today. Even though nothing dramatic changed overnight, I caught myself thinking: What if I try just a little differently this time? Not harder, but with more intention.

But I’ve also realized that a fresh start can be a double-edged sword. Research suggests that while temporal landmarks can inspire change, they can also create pressure that leads us to slip back into old habits if we don’t see immediate results (Dai et al., 2014). The excitement of a “new beginning” can fade quickly, especially if our motivation depends solely on external markers like Mondays or the start of a new month. That’s why psychologists like Deci and Ryan (2000) emphasize intrinsic motivation — doing something because it feels meaningful, not just because it’s a new start.

I kept that in mind today. Instead of letting the date dictate my actions, I tried to connect with why I was doing each thing. I cleaned my space not just to check it off a list, but because a tidy environment makes me feel calmer. I tackled my work tasks one at a time because I value the clarity that comes from focus, not because I was chasing the dopamine hit of a completed list. It wasn’t perfect — I still felt the pull to overdo, to fill every gap with something “productive.” But I reminded myself that the goal isn’t to sprint. It’s to find a rhythm I can actually sustain.

There was a small sense of accomplishment when the evening rolled around. Not because I had finished everything, but because I didn’t push myself to the point of exhaustion. That’s growth for me. Learning to celebrate progress, not perfection. Learning that I can reset without burning out in the process. And that maybe the truest fresh start isn’t about the day or the calendar — it’s about the choice to keep showing up, even when the novelty wears off.

As I reflected on the day, The Chainsmokers’ Let’s Go felt like the perfect anthem. It’s energizing without being overwhelming — a reminder that moving forward doesn’t have to feel forced. Sometimes it’s simply about taking the next step and trusting that momentum will build along the way.

So that’s what today was: a fresh start. A reminder that you can begin again — not because you failed before, but because you’re always allowed to try.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If today didn’t go the way you wanted, try again tomorrow. Fresh starts aren’t limited to Mondays.

References:

• Dai, H., Milkman, K. L., & Riis, J. (2014). The fresh start effect: Temporal landmarks motivate aspirational behavior. Management Science, 60(10), 2563–2582.
• Deci, E. L., & Ryan, R. M. (2000). The “what” and “why” of goal pursuits: Human needs and the self-determination of behavior. Psychological Inquiry, 11(4), 227–268.

Title inspired by the song “Let’s Go” by The Chainsmokers.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

Day 27 – Nothing – Bruno Major

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Diary,

Today was one of those slow Sundays where time felt soft around the edges. I didn’t do much of anything — just curled up on the couch and let the hours drift by as I binge-watched TV. The kind of day where you’re vaguely aware that you could be doing something else, something more productive, but you don’t. You just… stay still.

There’s a part of me that feels guilty about that. It’s easy to label days like this as “wasted,” especially after a week of steady routines and catching up. But maybe there’s another way to see it. Maybe these quiet, unremarkable days serve their own purpose.

Psychologists talk about the importance of recovery time — true downtime that allows the mind and body to recharge (Sonnentag & Fritz, 2015). I’m not sure if binge-watching counts as restorative, but it did give me a break from the constant need to be “on.” No deadlines, no expectations, no pressure to perform. Just me, my couch, and a show I could get lost in.

Of course, there’s a fine line between rest and avoidance. Too many days like this can leave me feeling disconnected and sluggish, like I’m living on autopilot. But today, I think I needed it. After the restless haze of Day 25 and the steady busywork of Day 26, it felt good to just pause, even if it was messy and imperfect.

Bruno Major’s Nothing kept playing in my mind as the day went on. There’s something about the way he sings about doing nothing with someone he loves that makes the ordinary feel softer. Even though I spent the day alone, it reminded me that not every moment has to be big to be meaningful.

So, no grand insights today. No to-do lists completed or goals reached. Just a Sunday that passed quietly. And maybe that’s okay.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If you had a slow day too, try to see it as a pause rather than a failure. There’s value in stopping, even when it feels aimless.

References:

• Sonnentag, S., & Fritz, C. (2015). Recovery from job stress: The stressor–detachment model as an integrative framework. Journal of Organizational Behavior, 36(S1), S72–S103.

Title inspired by the song “Nothing” by Bruno Major.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

After yesterday’s restless drift, today was quieter — but in a different way. I spent the day doing the kind of busy work that rarely feels exciting: cleaning, organizing, tending to all the little things around the house that had piled up when life felt overwhelming. Nothing glamorous. No breakthroughs. Just getting things done.

But it felt good.

There’s something about these small, necessary tasks that brings a kind of quiet satisfaction. Folding laundry, clearing out a drawer, wiping down the kitchen counters — each little job creates a bit of order where there wasn’t any before. It’s not the kind of progress that anyone else would notice, but I can feel it. My space feels lighter, and so do I.

Psychologists call this behavioral activation: the idea that engaging in small, purposeful tasks can lift your mood and help you regain a sense of control (Martell et al., 2010). I think that’s what happened today. After yesterday’s aimless scrolling, I needed to feel like I was moving forward, even in small ways. And the rhythm of cleaning and organizing gave me that. One task led to the next, and by the end of the day, the house — and my mind — felt a little clearer.

I’m realizing that this kind of work is its own form of self-care. It doesn’t feel glamorous, but creating a calmer space makes it easier to show up for the rest of life. It’s like laying a foundation — you might not see it once it’s done, but everything else stands on top of it.

As I write this, Hozier’s Work Song is humming in the background. It’s steady and grounding, the perfect soundtrack for a day like today. Because this was a day of simple, steady progress. And right now, that feels enough.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If life feels overwhelming, try tending to one small thing in your space tomorrow. Sometimes those little wins make all the difference.

References:

• Martell, C. R., Dimidjian, S., & Herman-Dunn, R. (2010). Behavioral activation for depression: A clinician’s guide. Guilford Press.

Title inspired by the song “Work Song” by Hozier.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Diary,

Today felt like a restless rest day.

I didn’t do much of anything, at least nothing that felt meaningful. I woke up with good intentions — I thought maybe I’d read, clean a little, or go for a walk. But instead, I fell into the familiar trap of doom scrolling. Hours passed as I cycled through the same apps, the same feeds, the same headlines, hoping something new or interesting would appear. It never did. By the time the sun started to set, I was left with that hollow feeling — the sense that time had slipped through my fingers and I had nothing to show for it.

I know these days happen. Sometimes the body and mind just shut down after weeks of constant motion, and the easiest thing to do is distract yourself. But this didn’t feel like rest. It felt like escape. Intentional rest restores you; this kind of passive rest leaves you drained and even more disconnected. The irony is that I wasn’t even enjoying the scrolling. I was just filling the silence, numbing the discomfort of stillness.

There’s a frustration that comes with that — the quiet guilt of having wasted time. I could feel it building all day, the little voice in my head saying, You should be doing something. But I’m trying not to be too hard on myself. Not every day can be productive or purposeful. And maybe these empty kinds of days are reminders: that I need to recharge in better ways, not just default to the easiest distraction.

Psychologists talk about the difference between passive and active rest (Newport, 2016). Passive rest, like binge-watching or scrolling endlessly, can give the illusion of unwinding, but it doesn’t actually replenish our energy. Active rest, on the other hand, is restorative — reading a book, cooking a meal, walking outside, meditating, calling a friend. It requires a little more intention but leaves you feeling better afterward. Today was a vivid reminder of that distinction.

Conan Gray’s Idle Town has been looping in my head all evening. There’s something about the way it captures the slow, aimless quality of a day like this — the kind where everything feels muted and far away. It’s a reminder that life has rhythms, and even the slower, quieter moments have their place. But I don’t want to stay stuck in this version of stillness. I want to find ways to rest that actually make me feel alive again.

Tomorrow, I want to be more intentional about how I rest. I’ll choose something that feeds me, even if it’s simple. Maybe I’ll cook a meal instead of ordering out. Maybe I’ll take a walk and actually look at the world around me. Maybe I’ll finally open that book I’ve been meaning to read. Because this isn’t how I want my days to feel — like they vanished without a trace. I want to end them with a little more light.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If today felt like it slipped away from you too, try to choose one small thing tomorrow that makes you feel alive again. It doesn’t have to be big — it just has to be yours.

References:

• Newport, C. (2016). Deep Work: Rules for focused success in a distracted world. Grand Central Publishing.

Title inspired by the song “Idle Town” by Conan Gray.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

I’ve been sinking deeper into the routines I’ve been building over the past few weeks. And for the most part, it’s been good — grounding, even. There’s a sense of control that comes with knowing how my day will start and end. It’s allowed me to focus, to steady myself after the chaos of the past month. But lately, there’s a new feeling creeping in: boredom.

It’s strange. These same routines that once felt like anchors now feel a little… endless. Wake up, coffee, work, tidy up, sleep. Repeat. There’s growth here, I can sense that. But I’m also restless. Like I’m watching life pass by in a continuous loop, and I can’t tell if I’m fully living it.

Psychologists call this hedonic adaptation — the way we acclimate to positive changes until they feel ordinary again (Lyubomirsky, 2011). The novelty fades, and the things we once craved start to feel dull. I can see it happening to me now. When my days were chaotic, I longed for this structure. Now that I have it, I find myself craving variety.

The temptation is to shake everything up, to chase excitement for the sake of it. But I know the answer isn’t to throw the routines out entirely. They’ve given me a foundation, and abandoning them would leave me unmoored. Maybe the challenge is to weave in newness without destroying the balance I’ve built.

The truth is, stability and novelty can coexist. Studies on motivation and engagement show that small bursts of variety — what psychologists call behavioral activation — can refresh the brain and improve mood (Martell et al., 2010). I’m realizing that I don’t need to overhaul my life to feel inspired again. I can start small: cooking a new recipe instead of defaulting to the same meals, taking a different route on a walk, or introducing something fun into my evenings instead of endlessly scrolling.

Even little changes matter. Switching the order of my morning routine, rearranging a room, spending an hour on a hobby I’ve neglected. These things feel minor, but they disrupt the autopilot that can make days blur together. And disruption isn’t always a bad thing — it’s what makes us feel awake again.

I’ve also been reflecting on how routine can numb me if I’m not intentional. It’s easy to slip into patterns where I’m going through the motions but not fully present. Mindfulness can help here — even pausing during routine tasks to notice what’s around me. The smell of the coffee I make every morning. The texture of the air when I step outside. The quiet satisfaction of finishing the small tasks that keep my life organized. These moments are already here; I just have to choose to engage with them.

As I write this, OneRepublic’s Good Life is playing softly in the background. The lyrics feel fitting — a reminder that life doesn’t have to be extraordinary all the time to be good. That even in the monotony, there’s beauty if I’m willing to notice it. And maybe that’s the lesson: not to chase excitement blindly, but to re-engage with what’s already here. To bring curiosity back into the habits that have become automatic.

Still, I want to leave room for spontaneity. I think about what it would mean to say yes more often — to invitations, to creative projects, to experiences I might normally put off. Not because I’m dissatisfied with my routines, but because I know life is more vibrant when I allow for surprises.

I want my routines to support me, not numb me. I want to find ways to let life surprise me again, even if it’s just in small ways. Because this is a good life — but it can be a fuller one, too.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If your routines are starting to feel flat, try changing one small thing tomorrow. See what happens. Sometimes one shift is all it takes to reawaken your sense of possibility.

References:

• Lyubomirsky, S. (2011). Hedonic adaptation to positive and negative experiences. In S. Folkman (Ed.), The Oxford handbook of stress, health, and coping (pp. 200–224). Oxford University Press.
• Martell, C. R., Dimidjian, S., & Herman-Dunn, R. (2010). Behavioral activation for depression: A clinician’s guide. Guilford Press.

Title inspired by the song “Good Life” by OneRepublic.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

There’s a rhythm returning to my days. Not a rushed, breathless pace like the last few weeks, but something steadier — a rhythm I can actually feel myself settling into.

After living in “go, go, go” mode for so long, it’s strange to be able to notice the clock again. To wake up and follow the same handful of rituals: the quiet cup of coffee before the world wakes up, checking my calendar, writing out a short list of tasks I want to finish. At first, the predictability felt constricting, almost dull. My mind, used to the constant rush of deadlines and adrenaline, didn’t quite know what to do with itself. But now I’m starting to see it differently. There’s comfort here.

Routines can feel like fences when you’re craving freedom, but lately, they feel more like anchors. Research shows that having regular habits can help regulate stress hormones like cortisol and create a sense of stability (Zilioli & Imami, 2021). I can feel that happening in small ways — I’m less anxious when I know how my day will begin and end. Even simple habits like tidying my space at the end of the night or walking outside during lunch make the day feel more grounded. There’s a subtle shift in my body, too — fewer racing thoughts, fewer moments where I feel like I’m forgetting something critical. It’s as if my nervous system is finally taking a breath.

This isn’t the first time I’ve realized how much I need routine, but I think I used to misunderstand it. I treated it like a checklist, something rigid I had to stick to or else I’d feel like I failed. Now I’m learning that routine can be flexible. It can bend with you. It’s not about doing the exact same thing every day; it’s about knowing there’s a rhythm you can return to. Like the sun rising and setting. Like a song you can hum without thinking.

It’s not perfect. I still catch myself reaching for the chaos, that old instinct to overschedule and stay busy so I don’t have to sit with my thoughts. There’s a comfort in distraction, even when it’s exhausting. But there’s also a lesson here about balance — about using the structure of routine as support, not punishment. When the quiet parts of life feel unfamiliar, it’s easy to equate movement with meaning. But I’m starting to see that meaning can also be found in the stillness.

I’ve noticed the difference in how I show up for myself and others. When my days are structured, I have more emotional bandwidth. I’m more present in conversations. I’m less likely to snap over small things. This connects with what psychologists call decision fatigue — the idea that when we constantly have to decide what to do next, we burn through mental energy, making it harder to regulate our emotions (Baumeister et al., 1998). Having certain things set on autopilot — when I eat, when I take breaks, when I turn off my phone — frees up energy for the things that actually matter.

Maybe that’s what “home” really is. Not a place, but a rhythm. A collection of small choices that remind you you’re safe. That life doesn’t have to feel like an emergency all the time. Even something as simple as cooking the same meal once a week, or setting aside time every Friday to clean and reset, can create a sense of continuity.

I’m also realizing that these small rituals have a way of holding me accountable. When I skip them for too long, I feel it. The dishes pile up, my sleep suffers, and my mind starts spinning in unhelpful loops. But when I return to them, the world feels less chaotic. It’s a reminder that consistency doesn’t mean perfection — it means coming back, again and again, even when it’s not easy.

Omar Apollo’s Evergreen has been playing in the background as I write this, and the title feels fitting. Evergreen — steady, living, rooted. That’s what I want my days to feel like. Not brittle or overly rigid, but flexible enough to bend without breaking. Like something I can trust to return, even when things get hard again.

It’s a work in progress. Some days I’ll forget. Some weeks will still pull me into their orbit of stress and deadlines. But tonight, I feel grounded in a way I haven’t felt in a while. And that feels like a start.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If your days feel like they’re spinning out, try adding one small ritual you can count on. It might be the thing that steadies you when everything else feels uncertain.

References:

• Zilioli, S., & Imami, L. (2021). Daily routines and cortisol: How consistent patterns buffer stress. Stress & Health, 37(2), 284–293.
• Baumeister, R. F., Bratslavsky, E., Muraven, M., & Tice, D. M. (1998). Ego depletion: Is the active self a limited resource? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 74(5), 1252–1265.

Title inspired by the song “Evergreen” by Omar Apollo.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

Day 22 – Bloom – The Paper Kites

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Diary,

Today was simple. And that felt good.

No breakthroughs, no long lists of tasks to conquer, no crises waiting to be solved. Just a day where the ordinary things stood out — the way the sunlight came through the window in the morning, the smell of coffee filling the kitchen, the brief moment outside where the breeze carried that almost-spring warmth. There was something grounding about it, a quiet reminder that not every day needs to be extraordinary to matter.

I spent part of the morning just noticing the world around me — the soft hum of the refrigerator, the sound of neighbors talking in the distance, the way my favorite mug warmed my hands as I wrapped them around it. These little moments are easy to overlook, but today they felt like anchors. Small things that tether me to the present.

Sometimes I forget that joy doesn’t always need to be big. It doesn’t have to be a milestone or an achievement. It can be a laugh shared with someone you love. A song playing at the right time. A meal that tastes better than you expected. A few quiet minutes to yourself that you didn’t think you’d get. These are the things that give life texture, even when everything else feels ordinary.

We spend so much of life looking ahead — rushing toward the next thing, trying to make meaning in the grand story. But I think there’s a different kind of meaning in the little things. Maybe that’s what makes life feel like it’s blooming again after a season of heaviness: noticing what’s good, even when it’s small.

This afternoon I sat outside for a while, watching the way the light shifted through the trees. It was such a simple thing, but I felt my shoulders loosen as I listened to the rustle of leaves. For the first time in days, I didn’t feel the need to be anywhere else. There was no urge to check my phone, no mental list running through my head. Just the sound of the world continuing on, and me allowing myself to be a part of it.

I want to get better at that. At slowing down enough to actually see what’s around me. At letting the quiet, happy moments fill me up instead of brushing past them. Because today reminded me that even ordinary days can carry something soft and beautiful.

And I needed that. I needed to be reminded that life isn’t just made up of the big events, the moments we mark on a calendar. It’s also made up of the in-between — the morning sunlight, the afternoon breeze, the quiet conversations. These are the things that keep us steady. These are the things that make it all feel worthwhile.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If today gave you even one small thing to smile about, hold on to it. Let it mean something. Because it does.

Title inspired by the song “Bloom” by The Paper Kites.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.

The day’s end, another moment to reflect.

Dear Journal,

The past few weeks have felt like a marathon. There was always something pressing, something urgent, something unfinished. I operated in constant motion, moving from one task to the next, my mind scanning for what could go wrong. It kept me on edge, but it also gave me a sense of direction. There was no time to question what I was doing — I just had to keep going.

Now the pace has shifted. The big push is over, and I’m down to fine-tuning. There’s still work, but it’s not the same all-consuming kind. And yet, instead of relief, I feel… a little lost.

I’m realizing how much the busyness became a routine of its own. That “go, go, go” mentality left little room for stillness, and now that I have a little more space, I don’t quite know what to do with it. The quiet feels foreign, almost unsettling. I keep scanning for something urgent, something demanding my attention, as if I can’t quite believe it’s okay to slow down.

There’s a term for this — post-stress letdown. After a period of prolonged stress, the body and mind can feel out of sorts when the adrenaline finally tapers off (American Institute of Stress, 2021). It’s not uncommon to feel restless or even anxious during these transitions because we’ve grown accustomed to functioning in crisis mode. When you’re always moving, you can avoid the deeper questions. When the movement stops, those questions rise to the surface.

The stress cycle also impacts our bodies in ways we often overlook. Cortisol and adrenaline levels, elevated for weeks, don’t simply disappear overnight. They slowly taper off, and in that taper, the body can feel heavy, unmotivated, and uncertain (McEwen, 2007). It’s the emotional equivalent of standing still after running — your muscles ache, your breath catches, and for a moment you’re unsure how to just be.

And that’s where I find myself now — uncertain. I’ve become so used to measuring my days by how much I can accomplish, how many items I can check off the list, that I’m struggling to adjust to this slower rhythm. There’s a part of me that equates stillness with laziness, a narrative I know isn’t true but that feels deeply ingrained.

It makes me think about how much we tie our sense of worth to productivity. When the to-do list is full, we can point to it and say, See? I’m needed. I’m useful. But when the list is shorter, when there’s space, we’re left facing the discomfort of simply being. Brené Brown writes about how vulnerability often surfaces in these quiet moments, when we can no longer distract ourselves with constant doing (Brown, 2012). It’s not easy.

The quiet also leaves room for emotions I didn’t have time to feel in the chaos. Fatigue, for one. Gratitude, too. Even sadness — for how often I push myself so hard that I forget to live my life while I’m busy managing it. There’s a mix of emotions swirling, and it feels strange not to have the usual noise drowning them out.

I’m trying to remind myself that this discomfort is temporary. That learning to be comfortable in the quiet is just as important as being capable in the rush. Maybe this slower pace is an invitation to reconnect with parts of myself I ignored when I was sprinting from one thing to the next. To rest without guilt. To listen instead of react. To be intentional instead of defaulting to autopilot.

I wonder how often we sabotage our own rest by filling every gap with more work or more distractions. Maybe this is a chance to practice a different way. To pause and ask: What do I actually want right now? Not what others expect, not what’s urgent, but what my mind and body need.

There’s also a practice here — to notice the small joys I often overlook. The quiet cup of tea. The walk without headphones. The conversation where I’m not thinking about my next task. These moments are easy to dismiss, but they’re the ones that remind me life is more than the next deadline.

It will take time to adjust. The “go, go, go” mindset is deeply ingrained. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the lesson isn’t about filling the space with something new, but allowing the space to exist at all. There’s value in slowing down enough to notice what rises in the quiet. There’s value in trusting that the world won’t fall apart if I’m not constantly moving.

Tonight, I’m trying to sit with that truth. I’m not rushing to solve it. I’m just letting the quiet be what it is.

Yours in letters, always,
Pandora

P.S.
If you’ve been moving non-stop and suddenly find yourself in the quiet, it’s okay to feel unsettled. Give yourself time to ease into it, and don’t be afraid to sit with what you find there.

References:

• American Institute of Stress. (2021). Post-stress letdown: Understanding how the body responds when stress subsides. Retrieved from https://www.stress.org/
• McEwen, B. S. (2007). Physiology and neurobiology of stress and adaptation: Central role of the brain. Physiological Reviews, 87(3), 873–904. https://doi.org/10.1152/physrev.00041.2006
• Brown, B. (2012). Daring greatly: How the courage to be vulnerable transforms the way we live, love, parent, and lead. Gotham Books.

Title inspired by the song “The Quiet” by Troye Sivan.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.