“Be still, and know…”
— a phrase I’ve heard so often it risks becoming background noise.
The year did not announce itself. It arrived quietly, like light finding its way through curtains before I was ready. I noticed how quickly my hand reached for my phone, how automatic the motion had become—muscle memory shaped by years of urgency. I stopped mid-reach. Not out of discipline, but curiosity.
Nothing dramatic followed. No clarity, no resolve. Just the unfamiliar sensation of standing at the threshold of the day without immediately filling it. I felt slightly exposed, as if I’d stepped outside without armor.
The quiet wasn’t peaceful yet; it was simply unclaimed.
I’m beginning to suspect that stillness doesn’t begin with silence, but with consent. A small, inward yes.
Today, that was enough.
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