Living What I Know

Living What I Know

Finding My Way Back to What Grounds Me

There is something humbling about realizing you already know what you need.

Not because it makes life easier.

But because it reminds you that sometimes the hardest part isn't learning something new. It's making room to live what you've already learned.

Over the last several weeks, I found myself spending more time inside than outside. My days became filled with work, responsibilities, goals, and the endless list of things that needed to get done. Individually, none of those things felt overwhelming. Together, they slowly crowded out the very practices that usually help me stay grounded.

The walks became less frequent.

The quiet moments grew shorter.

The time I normally spend outside reconnecting with myself was replaced by more time sitting at my computer, telling myself I would get back to it when life slowed down.

The problem was, life never really slowed down.

There was always one more project.

One more responsibility.

One more thing waiting behind the thing I had just finished.

At first, I didn't think much of it. I was still getting everything done. I was still showing up. From the outside, everything probably looked exactly the same.

But my body noticed before I did.

My patience became shorter.

The little things started feeling bigger than they really were.

I wasn't responding to life the way I usually do.

For a while, I convinced myself I just needed to push through it. I've always been someone who can work hard and keep going when things get difficult.

But somewhere along the way I realized that just because I can push through something doesn't always mean I should.

There is a difference between perseverance and ignoring ourselves.

That realization led me to an image that stayed with me all week.

A pot of boiling water.

The heat had been building for a long time.

Some of it came from work and everyday responsibilities. Some of it came from the expectations I place on myself. The goals I don't want to let go of. The people I don't want to disappoint.

None of those things were necessarily wrong.

The problem was that I wasn't turning the heat down anywhere.

I wasn't creating space to release what I was carrying.

I was simply getting better at containing it.

And containing stress is very different from releasing it.

Eventually, pressure finds somewhere to go.

Sometimes it comes out as impatience.

Sometimes frustration.

Sometimes we realize we've responded in a way that doesn't quite feel like the person we've worked hard to become.

That moment became my reminder.

Not that I had failed.

Not that I needed another self-help book.

But that I had stopped living the philosophy I spend so much time talking about.

The answer wasn't hidden somewhere I hadn't looked before.

I already knew where to start.

So I got outside.

Over the last couple of weeks I found myself walking through the green forests of Washington, hiking barefoot beneath the trees, sitting quietly with some of my favorite places, walking with my son, hiking with a friend, and spending an evening at the beach with my daughter cleaning the shoreline together as the sun began to set.

None of those moments solved my responsibilities.

They didn't erase my deadlines.

The work was still waiting for me when I got home.

But something inside of me changed.

I could feel my shoulders relax.

I could feel more space between something happening and my response to it.

I could think more clearly again.

And that clarity showed me something I wasn't expecting.

Taking care of ourselves isn't only about helping us survive stressful seasons.

Sometimes it gives us enough perspective to recognize that there are parts of our lives that need to change.

That may have been the biggest realization of all.

I don't want to become so good at regulating myself that I simply become more tolerant of a life that continually drains me.

There are responsibilities I can't change overnight.

There are commitments I intend to honor.

But honoring those commitments doesn't mean I stop moving toward the life I know I'm meant to build.

Sometimes balance isn't about standing perfectly still while holding everything together.

Maybe balance is movement.

Adjusting when something becomes too heavy.

Putting something down when it no longer belongs in our pack.

Choosing to give more of our time and energy to the things that give something back.

I don't have every answer yet.

I don't know exactly what every next step looks like.

But I do know the direction.

And for now, that's enough.

If this season of life has taught me anything, it's that finding our way isn't always about discovering something we've never known before.

Sometimes it's about returning to the quiet truths we've been carrying all along.

The walk we keep putting off.

The conversation we know we need to have.

The place that always helps us breathe a little deeper.

The practice that reminds us who we are.

Sometimes the path forward isn't asking us to become someone new.

It's simply inviting us to start living what we already know.

Thank you for walking with me.

Until next time, keep finding the places, the people, and the practices that bring you back to yourself. Sometimes those quiet returns become the very thing that helps us move forward again.

With Love and Gratitude,

 Amber

If this reflection resonates with you, I invite you to listen to Episode 28 of Find Your Way2Vyb, Living What I Know | Finding My Way Back to What Grounds Me

Together, we'll explore the quiet ways we adapt, the moments that slowly shape us, and the gentle path back to ourselves.

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