Sitting in the Stillness of Dream Catching

I just crossed the finish line of my 5 year goal. 

Moving to Colorado has been my north star ever since I first stepped foot in the state over a decade ago. It has been the consistent goal I have been working towards, even when I didn't know what was next. Now, here I am. I did it. I achieved the dream I have been dreaming about for years. 

And yet, now that I’m here, I’m realizing something: building a new life doesn’t happen overnight.

When we talk about chasing our dreams, we don’t really talk about the after. The part where the excitement fades and you’re left standing in your new city, surrounded by boxes and possibilities, wondering what comes next.

I moved here not knowing anyone. No family nearby, no friends to thrift with, no one to text when I just want to go for a walk and talk about nothing. It’s exciting in its own way, but it’s also… quiet.

I’m still figuring out what my days look like. Still building my routines, finding my go-to coffee shops, carving out spaces that feel like mine. Some days I wake up excited about this new beginning, and other days I feel the weight of the quiet. I’ll have moments where I wish I already had that close circle of friends, that sense of community, and that feeling of being known. 

I keep reminding myself that I’m still building. And building takes time. 

It’s that weird space between what you had and what you want. You know you are where you’re supposed to be, but it’s still uncomfortable.

This calm, quiet chapter is the reward for years of work, planning, sacrifice, and persistence. It’s the exhale after holding my breath for so long. I’ve spent years grinding through jobs, managing responsibilities, and pushing myself toward this exact dream. It took effort, intention, and strategy to get here.

I deserve to be in this slow season. 

This slower season is my chance to recharge, to reflect, and to feel proud of the fact that I’ve made it here. It’s the space between one version of myself and the next. It’s the time I get to gather energy before blooming again.

Think about it like moving into your first apartment. You have this vision in your head of what it will look like. You hope to get your keys, walk in, and have your picture perfect pinterest board apartment ready to go. Plants in the windowsill, cozy lighting, artwork that feels like you, and the smell of your favorite candle filling the air. But when you first move in, it’s usually empty. You’re eating takeout on the floor. You don’t have curtains yet. The walls are bare. It doesn’t feel like home. Not yet. 

Slowly though, piece by piece, you make it yours. You add a rug, hang up photos,  and find your favorite corner to snuggle up and drink coffee in. It takes time, and that’s exactly what makes it meaningful.

That’s what this season feels like. My life right now is that empty apartment. Full of potential, but still finding its shape.

I think we forget how to just be in the process. We live in a world that constantly tells us to hustle, to optimize, and to keep moving forward. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is slow down and listen to the quiet parts of our life.

So while yes, I’m ready to jump into this new life and rewrite this version of myself, I also deserve to rest. I deserve to take a breath before diving into the next big thing. The grind doesn’t have to stop completely. It can pause. It can soften. It can move at a gentler pace.

Boredom, I’ve realized, isn’t something to fix. It’s something to feel. It’s space. It’s an invitation to get curious and to sit with yourself. 

There’s beauty in the in-between. There’s gratitude to be found in the slow mornings, the solo dinners, the nights in, and the long walks where your only company is your own thoughts. This quiet time I have found, is where you learn to build. 

I’m learning to lean into the discomfort. To stop rushing the process. To trust that what’s meant for me will come, but it doesn’t need to come all at once.

Good things take time to build, and as impatient as I can be, I’d rather build something real, slowly, than force something that doesn’t fit just to fill the silence.

So, here’s to the slow season. Here's to the season of life that teaches patience, gratitude, and the art of becoming. The one where we stop chasing the next big thing long enough to realize that maybe this, right here, is exactly where the good stuff begins.