I have not been writing in a while. As soon as I get too caught up in the external world, my writing somehow drifts away to a sacred place. Nevertheless, it never goes far, it’s always near, quietly reassuring me that it will still be here when I’m ready to let my fingers dance on the keyboard again.

When the days are filled with tasks, endless to-dos, and too much screen time, my intuition falls asleep. It craves the stillness of an early morning. It awakens amidst the blooming trees of July. It cherishes the spaciousness of the bluest, warmest vanilla sky. It feeds on quiet moments in between.

I don’t always listen, and I have for sure neglected its needs. My soul grows tired, and I ask myself: What is missing? And then I realise, nothing is missing. I was focusing on the wrong things. I got carried away, not by the beauty of nature, but by the chaos of the external world.

As soon as I do too little of the things that light me up, my soul begins to suffer. My entire body feels out of alignment and my daily frustration grows stronger and stronger.

But what do I do then, to recenter myself?

I slow down. I let myself become bored. I allow. I feel. I let the softness of a new dawn guide me back home. I take my eyes off the screen, and I participate in the real world. I buy fresh flowers, decorate my balcony, flirt with the cute stranger in the coffee shop, buy myself a too expensive cup of matcha, take long nature walks, and go to the bookstore simply to feel alive. I look at art and remind myself that life is happening here and now. Every morning I have the privilege to choose how to show up. It’s not what has been, nor what will be, but the pure experience of being here now. And my intuition, my creativity, is once again brought back to life.