Lately I have been pulling into that same stretch of road and sitting still. No music, no phone, no one needing anything. Just the low hum of the streetlamp and the red hood of my car catching its cold light. That kind of silence has stopped feeling empty. It is now a kind of quiet clarity. No sadness. No yearning. Just a moment that does not ask anything from me. I used to hate this kind of stillness. Now I lean into it. I let it hold me for a while. I leave only when I am ready.
Back in my twenties, I thought more meant better. More clothes, more makeup, more plans, more noise. I kept chasing something that never came. Minimalism taught me the opposite. That shedding is not giving up. That saying no is a form of care. I do not follow trends now. I do not explain myself. What stays in my life stays because it earns its place. And I earn mine too, daily, by choosing less. I feel strong when I walk past things I do not need. I feel like myself when nothing pulls at me.
Care does not always look loud. Some nights I just stare at a wall and think of words I will never write down. That still counts. Describing the feeling is not the point. Being inside it is. I am no longer trying to show people who I am. I am living it quietly. I trust the way I move. I trust the spaces I keep. Minimalism made that possible. Not as a look or a trend. But as a way to get closer to my core. The one that does not shout. The one that knows.
Deciding to live like this did not come from peace. It came from exhaustion. From burnout. From pretending to be okay with things that drained me. Now I choose simple things with full intention. A walk at dusk. A single light above my car. My son’s question about why I sit out there before coming in. I told him I was catching up with myself. He laughed. He will understand one day. He will know that time alone is not a flaw to hide. It is a way back to center. A private strength.
Eventually I stopped looking for meaning in chaos. I started seeing it in the still parts. The quiet hallways. The pause before the next task. The empty room. That photo of the car under the streetlamp says more than I ever could. Nothing is happening in it. But everything I needed was there. Space. Calm. Return. A reminder that we are not missing anything when we choose less. We are just finally seeing what was buried under the noise. This is not a phase. This is how I live now. How I heal. How I stay close to what matters.
All photographs and content used in this post are my own. Therefore, they have been used under my permission and are my property.
