The Quiet Eeight of Becoming
I’m 28.
A working professional, yes — but more than that, a quiet storm of thoughts, questions, and inner reckonings.
Not long ago, I changed jobs.
Back then, all I could think about was getting there. The interview prep, the self-doubt, the late nights of learning and planning — it all felt like a mountain.
And I told myself, Once I cross this, there will be calm.
A sense of arrival.
A breath.
But calm doesn’t come like that, does it?
Because once you arrive, a new mountain waits.
Now, you must prove, you must grow, you must stay relevant.
You start thinking about your future — about thriving, not just surviving.
About your parents, who’re aging quietly while you’re busy becoming.
About marriage, companionship, building a life with someone — while still figuring out how to build one with yourself.
And in all this doing, you forget to be.
You forget to look back and whisper, “You did that.”
There’s another feeling, too — a quiet ache.
Some days I wonder: Are my best years slipping by?
Is this the time I should be enjoying more, being freer, traveling, laughing, living lightly?
But when I do, there’s guilt.
Like I’m stealing time from my responsibilities.
Like this is the season to work hard, not wander.
And then, there’s fear —
What if this time never comes back?
What if I get so busy building a future that I forget to notice the life already unfolding around me?
It’s a strange place to be —
Torn between ambition and presence, between duty and delight.
Every time I sit down to learn something new, the world opens like an ocean — vast, beautiful, and humbling.
And I feel small again. Like I know nothing.
Like I’m always catching up.
I don’t know if we ever arrive.
Maybe adulthood is just a series of checkpoints that never quite feel like “enough.”
Maybe we are all just trying — to make sense, to make peace, to make progress.
But today, I want to pause.
To honor the quiet weight of becoming —
The invisible load we carry between who we are and who we’re trying to be.
To remind myself that it’s okay —
Okay to feel stretched and still be whole.
Okay to not have all the answers and still be on the right path.
Okay to work hard, and also feel joy.
That rest is not a betrayal. That presence is not procrastination.
We’re all figuring it out.
One breath, one choice, one quiet victory at a time.