I don’t want to accumulate things anymore.
Clothes? My wardrobe is proof enough—full beyond reason.
Shoes? Three pairs for running, three for casual days, two for formality.
Bags? More than I need.

Enough is enough.
This year, I am shedding.
A quiet moratorium on shopping feels right.
It aligns with the word I’ve chosen to guide me: peace.

I feel lighter already—
and, strangely, more myself.
In these early years of my forties, I’ve stepped off the well-worn road,
onto a quieter path.

I no longer chase what I once thought was mine.
Odd, but I’ve begun to believe:
what’s truly mine is already looking for me.

I’m learning to people-please less—
(not none, not yet, but less… and that’s something).
I spend my waking hours building a steadier version of myself.
I run. I lift. I write. I eat with awareness.
I meditate. I stretch.
I show up.

And in the evenings, when the sun bows out,
I try not to drag the day’s weight into bed.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes, it doesn’t.

But more often now, when my mind spirals—
about bills, about debt—
I close my eyes and whisper:
I don’t have the answers right now, weary mind. But I’ll do what I can to soothe you. We’ll pay what we need to, and if not today… maybe tomorrow. Maybe a small miracle will come.

It’s strange, the power of speaking gently to myself.
Stranger still—how it works.
I blame myself less these days.
I breathe more.

No, I don’t want to accumulate things anymore.
I want to gather stories.
Love stories.
Laughter stories.
The kind you write with people who feel like home.

And you—what do you want to collect in this fleeting, precious life?

Karin Sabrina