On the one hand, thirty-six was just in time, came to my kitchen table unannounced, and would not leave till I could have a serious conversation with myself. the hustle-till-you-drop policy of my twenties? Expired. Instead of it there were little, nearly grovelling manners that yet, in the silent stuff of it, put everything back together. No guru required. No green juice contract. Only ten straight shifts that caused thirty-six to be the year I actually began living on purpose.
Morning Pages
I began writing three very sloppy, unrefined pages each day before my phone could sneak and harass me with messages. Nobody reads them. They are not profound. However, these mind-cleansing exercises were less expensive and much less difficult than therapy, and to pour out the gunk in my mind onto paper pre-breakfast.
Move Daily
I ceased idealizing the notion of the two-hour gym session that I would never attend and started doing twenty minutes of movement a day. Walking counts. Stretching counts. It does not matter whether you dance poorly in your kitchen. Perfection was beaten by consistency all the time.
Phone Boundaries
I sent my phone out of the bedroom, such a melodramatic little distracting machine that it is. First half an hour of every morning, no screens. It turned out that the world was not as much in need of me at the moment. I was shocked, and with much more peace than previously.
Eat With Intent
I put my diet mind to rest, and it brought no benefit but depression and a hysterical panic about bread. Entire food, regular meals, not a bit of guilt. When I was thirty-six, I started to eat consciously instead of stressed out, and the difference in my energy was dramatic to the extent that I was not sure which fuel I was actually operating on.
Learn Something
A chapter, a short course as a podcast, fifteen minutes of study per night, had me again feeling like a real growing human being. Well, it happens that your brain does not retire at thirty-five. It was merely awaiting you to put into it something more endearing than doomscrolling.
Say No More
I learned the word that has the greatest power in the English language, and I began to use it, and I didn’t attach five paragraphs of apology. Any no to anything that gave out was a yes to something that really mattered. My calendar got lighter. My energy got louder. My life got genuinely better.
Gratitude Practice
So I would record every night three particular good things – not generic, not forced. Nothing but moments that are worth noting. It was somewhat clumsy in the beginning, like middle school journaling. And then it made the meandering silence of rewiring my perception of hard days, and I no longer allowed bad afternoons to chart my whole story in life.
Real Friendships
I begrudgingly discarded the friendships which were all about shame and obligation and made the investment in the ones which seemed like real air. The social circle became smaller and even noisier, with actual laughter, actual sincerity, and no energy wasted in preserving an act no one requested to give.
Financial Clarity
I sat down with my money, I did not weep (so much), and I plotted out. It was such great knowledge where all those dollars were going that it eliminated an uneasiness that I had come to accept over the years. It turns out that it is not necessarily the ugly part you can be afraid of – it is the not looking that can make you remain stuck.
Rest Deliberately
I have finally laid to rest that toxic belief system around exhaustion being an indicator of ambition and begun preserving sleep as the non-negotiable, lifelong-sustaining resource that it is. Not being lazy, dressed in pyjamas. I am here to give at the age of thirty-six because I can get some rest and at least have something left to defy.
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