The Rhythm of My Days

There’s something meditative about the gentle clicking of keys under my fingers. I’ve loved typing for as long as I can remember. It feels like an extension of something I’ve always cherished: the fluidity of handwriting. Even as a child, I delighted in the way my letters took shape, orderly and consistent, a quiet reflection of my inner world.

Consistency grounds me. I’ve come to see how much I thrive when I have a rhythm, a steady practice that carries me day in and day out. But life, as it often does, had other plans for me over the past few years. I felt unmoored, unsure of who I was or why I was here. It wasn’t until last year that something clicked, a realization that the act of writing could be more than just a fleeting dream. It could be a purpose, a way of life.

I’ve rediscovered the joy of the process itself. There’s no need to prove anything to anyone. My ego and I have struck a truce. We’re working together now, learning to celebrate small victories instead of being consumed by the need to finish everything at once. Yesterday, when doubt crept in, I paused. I reminded myself, and my ego, that we’re on the same team. It’s not about perfection or speed; it’s about savoring each moment.

This newfound perspective has spilled into other areas of my life, too. My four cats, with their distinct personalities, remind me daily of the beauty in simple, present moments. They curl up beside me as I type, their soft purrs a constant, comforting rhythm. They are sweet reminders of love in its purest form, quiet companionship.

Recently, I learned that the foster children in my care might soon move to live with their grandmother. It’s bittersweet. While I’m grateful they’ll be with family, they’ve known me as “Mum” for over a year. Letting go is never easy, but maybe it’s time. Perhaps this transition will give me the space I need to deepen my writing journey. Yet there’s guilt, too, a whisper of doubt about whether I should take on new foster children or take a break.

Sadness is a tricky thing for me. It doesn’t always come when expected, but lingers, resurfacing in quieter moments weeks or months later. I’ve learned not to resist it when it shows up. Instead, I welcome it, knowing it’s part of the process of being human, of letting go, and moving forward.

Sometimes, I sit back and wonder if sadness is an old friend I haven’t fully understood. It doesn’t knock politely. It barges in, sometimes uninvited, and makes itself at home. But as I’ve grown, I’ve learned to sit with it, to ask it questions instead of trying to push it away. Why are you here? What are you trying to tell me? It doesn’t always answer, but when it does, its lessons are profound.

As I sit here, typing with the cats curled nearby, I remind myself that everything is unfolding exactly as it should. There’s no need to rush. Each click of the keys, each word that appears on the screen, is a testament to the beauty of the present moment. And that, I think, is enough.

#WritingJourney #MindfulLiving #CatsOfInstagram #FosterParenting #PersonalGrowth #EmbraceTheProcess #LettingGo #AmaraHartwood