The Stillness Between What Was and What’s Next

There’s a quiet moment that comes before you reach out - to someone, to something, even to yourself.

It’s the moment where you’re fingers hover above the phone, or your heart flutters for no apparent reason, and you can’t quite tell if it’s intuition or nostalgia nudging.

For most of my life, I filled that silence with action.

If I missed someone, I said so.

If I didn’t understand something, I asked.

If something hurt, I dug into it until I could make sense of the ache.

But lately, I’ve learned that some seasons aren’t about movement - they’re about stillness. Not the frozen kind of stillness that keeps you stuck, but the sacred kind…the kind that lets you actually hear what your own heart has been trying to say.

There are moments in life that never fully close. They soften, fade, or shift form, but their energy still hums in the background. You can build an entire life - new cities, new dreams, new versions of yourself - and still feel the faint pulse of something familiar when you least expect it. And I used to think that meant unfinished business. That it needed to be “figured out” before I could move forward.

Now I see it differently.

Reflection IS a kind of action. It’s the internal tending. The slow, gentle sorting through of what’s yours to carry and what’s ready to be set down. It’s realizing peace isn’t found in chasing closure, but in being able to look at what was and feel love instead of longing.

There’s a quiet power in choosing not to chase, not to explain, not to fix. It simply says, “I trust this will unfold exactly as it’s meant to, even if that unfolding happens in silence.” That kind of surrender used to terrify me. It felt like giving up.

Now it feels like grace.

Stillness isn’t emptiness. It’s space. Space for what’s truly aligned to reach you without you having to reach for it. Space for your own growth to anchor deeper roots. Space for clarity to arrive in it’s own divine timing.

So if you’ve been feeling that pull - towards someone, something, or even a version of yourself you haven’t met yet - maybe don’t be so quick to answer it. Maybe just sit in the stillness for a moment. Let the ache breathe. Let your mind quiet.

And listen.

You might find that peace was never waiting at the other end of the message. It was waiting here, in the quiet between what was and what’s next.