A day at home, and yet in motion
This morning, sunlight touched my face gently —
and I woke up in my own bed.
Rested.
Held.
Wrapped in the quiet embrace of what I call home.
A long-awaited return to softness.
The arms of my eldest.
The laughter of the smallest, carried out the door by loving hands.
And I —
I walked through the forest.
Feet on soil.
Breath syncing with trees.
Later, we visited a nearby place —
a room filled with quiet worry,
and someone we love deeply resting within it.
Life reminds us:
tenderness is not optional.
It is the language of what matters most.
Back home:
Paperwork.
Unfinished transitions.
An early draft of letting go —
a contract that carries the echo of past chapters.
Not painful. Just real.
A threshold.
Meanwhile —
my phone pulsed with noise.
Messages from the world I just left behind —
a congress, a city, a current I consciously chose not to fully enter.
Still, the world knocks.
Still, I listen — selectively.
Three and a half hours of deep dialogue online.
Executive presence, mirrored through a screen.
Then: a shift.
An event on the edge of tomorrow —
AI, potential, precision.
My heart remained anchored. My body remained local.
The harbor is home tonight.
The city’s rhythm holds me while I prepare.
For a possible role that asks for vision.
For a weekend immersion that feels like an honor.
And all the while,
my partner holds the domestic sail —
our small ship steady.
This is not just a day.
It is a thread.
Woven from softness and surge,
stillness and strategy,
roots and reach.
And through it all —
a quiet knowing:
I’m exactly where I need to be.