Today I found myself scrolling with a clenched jaw. Everything felt too bright, too confident, too… final. As if the whole world had found their rhythm while I was still fumbling with the first note.
Comparison is not new. But the kind we’re exposed to now is dressed in highlight reels, curated vulnerability, and the illusion of constant arrival. And I—I feel behind. Behind in my work, in my purpose, in the race I never agreed to run. If Joan Didion were here, she might light a cigarette and say something like: “You’re not behind. You’re just living slower than the feed.” I imagine her watching the scroll with narrowed eyes. She’d observe it, yes—but from a distance. And she’d name what it is: not proof of success, but proof of performance.
And the thing is—I don’t want to perform. I want to create. To respond. To listen. To let things take the time they need. To write a sentence I might still love tomorrow. To make something beautiful without wondering if it will be liked.
So this is your permission slip, dear reader—
To close the tab. To return to the work that’s quiet and unsure and growing roots below the surface. To remember that being loud is not the same as being true. Not everything that blooms needs to be broadcasted. Some beauty is meant to be lived in, not posted. Some days, you are the garden no one sees—and that doesn’t make you any less alive.
Come back to your rhythm. Drink water. Breathe deeply. Touch earth. Write one word. Then another. And when the noise gets too loud again, remember this:
You are not late. You are in season.
With stillness in mind,
Girl Gone Authentic
Visual: Margaret Morrison Movement
