The irony about having a blog is having something to say and not having the courage to share it. So many times in the last 4-5 years, I thought to myself, I should I write something here, something with feeling. Sure, I wrote that one post about how to get your life together or some shit like that. But it was definitely just a bullshit excuse to tell myself I was writing again.

A true writer understands the power words hold. Or withhold.

I started 2026 like any normal 30-year-old would: with my soon-to-be in-laws, on the couch, watching reruns of The Office. Weekends at the lake house have become my numbness escape. It’s quite enjoyable, especially for a firstborn Latina like myself.

You’re telling me I can spend days doing nothing, eating sliced apples and enjoying the occasional beer? No yelling, chasing someone down the street? No need to lift a finger or organize an itinerary? Sign me up!

But that’s the thing—my life has become so simplified, so domesticated. And this isn’t me complaining by any means; I’m actually gloating.

I look back at some of my earlier entry posts, and I cringe at the melodramatic emotional dependency of my early twenties. And when I place the first five years of my twenties against the last five, there’s no lie in what many biologists have shared about the human brain’s development past 25. But life didn’t really start to life until 28.

And of course, at the bridge of this chapter of my life, you’ll find none other than a blue-eyed, bright-smiled young man. Only in this fairytale story, the boy doesn’t really do much “saving.” Instead, he does the complete opposite—he sits. On a couch, on a desk chair, on a bar stool, or the occasional airplane seat (which he tries to avoid at all costs because flying makes him unshakably anxious).

It finally took me meeting someone completely opposite of everything I stood for to show me everything I was missing: peace and quiet.

Enough peace and quiet that whatever it was I was running from for so many years—and what I was battling in my early twenties—finally caught up to me, placed a folding chair next to me, poured itself a glass of Malbec, and proceeded to ask me every imaginable, existential question you can think of for the next three years.

Now how is that for a melodramatic, emotionally dependent opening?

But all sarcasm aside, it really did start to hit me all at once, and then gradually unraveled. Without getting into too much detail, it wasn’t pretty. The truth of the matter is, growth is gnarly. But it’s also so very beautiful. The only way through any kind of darkness is to follow the light, no matter how small it starts out. And that’s kind of how I found my blue-eyed, white dragon. (Shoutout to Yu-Gi-Oh!)

After attempting to get sober your first time, you gain enough self-awareness to realize you are the problem. If you’re lucky, you’ll spend enough time unraveling what it all means—like untangling a box of mismatched HDMI cords. Once done, you start trying to find where these cords belong, plugging different-shaped ends, one by one, into different outlets until one sticks.

This process will inevitably take a lifetime, which is why I said, if you’re lucky. I consider myself blessed. Blessed because I’ve reached the point in my journey where my internal dialogue has become my companion instead of a feared shadow. I can now reflect upon the introspective questions that pop in and out, and I may even dabble in a glass or two of Malbec, too.

At 30, I find myself more curious about life than when I was 18. I now understand that I know nothing. And therefore, I feel empowered to want to experience more. For example, I started working as an event manager at a respected restaurant in Chicago. I am also a part-time restaurant manager. Stepping into this role quickly humbled me. I learned very fast—and stringently—that I knew nothing about the restaurant industry—and even less about event management.

A younger, less evolved version of myself would have quit this job within three days. Despite the restless nights, I felt a drive to stay, to commit, to understand. I still find myself doubting my abilities, but I also feel more confident in my delivery and own my seat at the table. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t taken the time to sit. Sit on a couch, on a barstool, on a desk chair, or the occasional airplane seat (which I have to do more of this year because mama needs a vacation, amirite!).

Sitting with myself idly no longer scares me. Stillness is the center of mindfulness. Here is where I can now find a path; where I can see beyond my own prejudice.

This year, I want to embody a new mantra: Add a bit more of Miles Davis. Beyond Miles Davis’s cool persona, musical genius, and innovative approach, he turned his sorrows into art. He learned to master the darkness and transform it into light.