Women and the city

You don’t remember a year by the things that happened. You remember it by how it felt to live it.

It’s already September… time really flies, doesn’t it?

I can’t remember anything particularly spectacular that I did this year, but I know it was a good one.

And somehow, I think that’s enough.

I don’t know when the year passed. I just know that I can’t remember being truly hurt or feeling like the world was ending. – even if some days felt like it for a moment.

Did I have bad days?

Of course.

They are, after all, part of the process.

But you know what?

Maybe it’s the year itself. Maybe it’s the fact that, once you reach a certain age, time starts moving differently.

I had so many moments filled with happiness that somehow, those are the ones I remember.

You don’t remember the days anymore.

You remember events.

Laughs.

Tears.

Heartbreaks.

Late-night conversations.

Random Tuesday afternoons that somehow made you happy.

You remember a year by the feelings it gave you.

And I know I’ll remember this one as the year I finally found some clarity.

The year I laughed a lot.

The year I stopped trying to figure everything out at once.

The year I became a little more comfortable with not knowing exactly where I’m going.

And maybe that’s what made me a better person.

For a long time, I thought a good year had to be full of big things.

New places.

New people.

Big decisions.

Stories worth telling.

But maybe a good year can simply be the year you feel okay.

The year you wake up and realize you haven’t cried yourself to sleep in months.

The year you start enjoying your own company.

The year your life becomes quiet enough for you to actually hear yourself think.

And honestly?

I think I’ve started to love that kind of life.

Now that the end of the year is getting closer, I plan to welcome autumn properly—with cute outfits, coffee dates with myself, books I probably don’t have enough time to read, and cozy nights that involve absolutely no social interaction whatsoever.

I started romanticizing my life because I’ve realized that the small things make me happy.

Maybe the happiest.

A good coffee.

A new book.

A walk with no particular destination.

Getting dressed just because I feel like it.

Coming home after a long day and knowing I have nowhere else to be.

Those little moments don’t look like much from the outside.

But they’re mine.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

I plan to become a more disciplined woman.

To take better care of myself.

To build the life I keep talking about.

But I hope I never become so disciplined that I forget how to be me.

Because somewhere between becoming a better version of yourself and trying to have your life figured out, it’s very easy to forget to actually live it.

So yes…

Expect more stories.

More chaotic decisions.

A little mischief.

Probably some questionable choices made purely for the plot.

And maybe, just maybe…

a little nostalgia.

Because if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that you don’t need a life full of extraordinary moments to have an extraordinary life.

Sometimes, you just need to notice the good ones while they’re happening.

And maybe this is what growing up feels like: not having everything figured out, but finally being okay with that.

Until next time 🤍