Reflections in the Quiet: 2025
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I’ve come to realize something about myself: I am deeply thankful, but I rarely express it. Gratitude tends to live quietly in me. Assumed rather than spoken. The last time I truly tried to put it into words was while writing my PhD thesis. That process forced me to slow down and acknowledge the people, moments, and circumstances that shaped me. Somewhere after that, life picked up speed, and I stopped writing gratitude down. As I step into 2026, I want to begin the year by looking back at 2025 with gratitude.
The year began on a high note, unlike any New Year I had experienced before. It was marked by presence, warmth, and a sense of fullness that felt rare and honest. There was joy in how it began, one of the best beginnings I could have asked for. It set a tone I didn’t yet realize would stay with me.
As the months went on, life unfolded well on the surface. I felt wanted. I felt valued. I gained perspective, not only about people, but about places. I experienced a side of California I hadn’t really seen before, even after years of living there. Shared moments, unhurried conversations, and simple presence.
And then, suddenly, I found myself back in a familiar dark pit. But this time it was different. I wasn’t alone. And yet, it felt like no one could truly understand what I was carrying. I could see a faint light. Not something close, not something guaranteed, just enough to notice.
What followed wasn’t a confident chase toward that light. It was more honest than that. The absence of life, the stillness, the lack of movement all gave me courage. Courage to leave what was comfortable. Courage to move. Courage to step away from a team and an environment I had invested deeply in. These weren’t decisions driven by excitement or certainty, they were about refusing to stay numb.
But it felt like the harder I tried, the farther that light moved away. Effort didn’t bring clarity. Speed didn’t bring peace. Eventually, I stopped running. Not because I had given up, but because I needed to breathe. That pause changed how I saw everything. In slowing down, I noticed a kind of beauty I hadn’t known how to see before. Not beauty in outcomes or resolutions, but in presence. In restraint. In learning that meaning doesn’t always reveal itself through pursuit. Sometimes it appears only when we stop demanding answers.
I chose to invest in myself. It wasn’t about reinvention. It was about continuation. Starting an MBA, traveling often, building stability piece by piece. Taking care of practical things I had postponed. Continuing forward, even when progress didn’t look dramatic from the outside.
2025 wasn’t a year of big announcements or obvious milestones. It was a year of depth. Of clarity that arrived slowly. Of moments that mattered not because they lasted, but because they changed how I see. I’ve also learned to be grateful for the darkness, not because it was kind, but because it taught me when to pause. When to listen. When to stop chasing light and simply let it exist.
As I step into 2026, I’m not carrying resentment or regret. I’m carrying appreciation. For growth. For lessons learned the hard way. For the people and moments that shaped me, however briefly.
Some light walks beside us for a while.
Some teaches us how to see.
For all of it, I am thankful.