Nothing whispers “mission accomplished” softer than uniting with your own energy after years of chasing nervous system regulation like it was a limited-edition NFT. Yeah. I said it. Me, myself, and my vibe: finally in alignment. Chill, calm, and absolutely unwilling to outsource my peace ever again.

And then there’s my creative spark. Oh, the elusive little rascal. Vanished years ago like it was dodging taxes, only to waltz back in a few nights ago with, “Hi, remember me? Let’s doodle.” Not AI-generated, thank you very much. AI could try, but it doesn’t have my brain’s level of chaotic brilliance. My head is basically a Pinterest board for symbolic dreams, very specific snack cravings, mixing things I love (the Aare, fondue and the animals at Dählhölzli) into an artwork. Think an alternate universe Bern where the Aare is flowing fondue, the herbivorous zoo animals have turned into cheese eaters, and they’re having a “fondueschwumm” meanwhile the carnivorous ones are BBQing at Eichholz. Don’t worry they bought the meats from supermarkets, no zoo animals were harmed making these illustrations. Yay my child level absurd creativity is back. 

So there I am, cozy-ass apartment, candles flickering like tiny, passive-aggressive cheerleaders, fake sunlight doing its best impression of a tropical vacation, playful music playing like it has insider knowledge of my mood swings. I’m drawing. Then I’m sawing wood. Sanding it. Smelling the nostalgia of sawdust from childhood… it’s literally the adult version of playing with Lego, but with a hint of meditative stillness. Maybe I inherited some of my dad’s craftsmanship genes, maybe I’m just happy to have something that doesn’t require Wi-Fi.

Oh, and yes, I’m on a social-media hiatus. Hermit mode: activated. I posted my illustrations in my stories, called my mom (hi, mom!), that’s it. No notifications. No external stimulation. Just me, my thoughts, and the occasional existential chuckle.

Because sometimes, hermit mode isn’t “antisocial,” it’s the height of self-love. It’s a soft rebellion against chaos: “I’m too peaceful to scroll. I will eat the Rösti and let my tastebuds dance. I will sip my tea. I will spend time with my plants.”

In the quietest, softest way, life throws random surges of happiness at me as well. Love. Gratitude. Little nudges that feel like someone sprinkled edible glitter on my aura. It feels… yummy. Like, I-can’t-believe-this-is-real-but-it-is yummy.

And the icing on the cake? My inner runner and inner chaser finally RSVPed “yes” to the self-love party. No drama, no chasing, no fleeing. The party has one strict dress code: heart-centered vibes only. And the DJ? Yours truly, spinning only tracks approved by my nervous system.

So here I am. Peaceful, calm, armed with my art, my sawdust, my emergency fondue and chocolate stashes, and a renewed appreciation for the absurdity of being human. No Bern. No cosmic outsourcing. Just me. My vibes. My energy.

And truly? I’ve entered my “I lived, I healed, and I’m kinda hot about it” era. I’m living proof you can survive full‑body ego extractions, spiritual plot twists that make telenovelas look subtle, dark nights, emotional detoxes, cosmic curveballs, karmic escape rooms, entanglements so confusing they deserved subtitles, identity deaths, resurrection arcs, and whatever the hell you call “healing while inhaling sawdust.”

And somehow? I came out of it with good skin, working chakras, and a nervous system that no longer files HR complaints about my lifestyle.

So no, I wasn’t supposed to be a monk. Or the next Buddha!? I’m still me, just healed and regulated. Plus balanced, finally. I’ve been craving balance more than some Libras I know. 

But here’s the humbling part: I’m fully aware life might drag me into another dark night if there’s more junk to peel off. And that’s fine (optionally I can really live without one.) But right now? I’m enjoying the absolute hell out of this peace.

Because me (and the pillows that have absorbed several liters of my emotional hydration), we earned this era.

And I’m unapologetically YAYing to that.