I didn’t realize how much I was fighting myself until I stopped. And it happened in the most ordinary ways.
I’ve been in Rishikesh, India, for almost a month now, and something interesting is happening.
I feel different.
Not dramatically different. I haven’t had some enormous spiritual awakening or life-altering epiphany. No lightning bolts. No sudden realization that I’ve figured out the meaning of life.
It’s much quieter than that.
In fact, it’s almost boring.
And I think that’s what makes it so interesting.
It started with an unfinished plate of food.
I’ve noticed lately that I’m just not as hungry as I used to be.
I keep ordering these big meals because, well, that’s what I’ve always done. I need to eat at least two meals a day, right? Three, according to everything we’ve been taught.
But lately, I’ll get halfway through my food and realize I’m completely satisfied.
And my body is basically saying, “WHY are you still eating? We’re good!”
So I’ve been stopping.
Yesterday, I ordered a meal I knew was going to be too big. Sure enough, halfway through, I’d had enough. I took the rest home and ate it for dinner later.
And to be honest, I wasn’t even particularly hungry then.
It got me thinking.
Why do we eat the way we eat? How much of it is hunger, and how much is simply habit? How often do we continue doing something because that’s what we’ve always done, without ever stopping to ask whether it’s what we actually need?
Now, I’m certainly not suggesting everyone should eat one meal a day. Our bodies need nourishment, and those needs vary. But I’m noticing something about my own relationship with food.
I’m paying attention.
And apparently, that attention is spilling into other parts of my life.
Wait. I don’t actually have to go?
If you know me, you know I love people. I love getting together, going out, exploring, laughing, having a glass of wine, and saying yes to spontaneous adventures.
That hasn’t changed.
But lately, I haven’t felt the need to see everyone and do everything.
I’ve been surprisingly content with my little routine here in Rishikesh.
Yoga. Pranayama. Work. Walks along the Ganga. Time with friends. Time alone.
It’s simple. And I’m loving it.
But evenings have been interesting.
People invite me to do things, and my initial reaction is often, “Oh, I should go!”
And then something else speaks up.
“WHY?”
“You’re perfectly happy right now. You’re tired. Go home. Relax. You don’t need to do anything.”
And increasingly, I’ve been listening.
Some nights I go out. Some nights I don’t.
And the surprising part?
I’m becoming okay with either choice.
Even the wine surprised me.
Someone offered me wine the other day.
My immediate reaction was, “YES! Of course! I haven’t had wine in a while!”
Classic me.
But when the day actually came, I thought about it and realized I didn’t really want any.
I also knew I’d probably end up smoking with it, and I just wasn’t feeling any of that.
So I said no.
And here’s the interesting part.
It didn’t bother me. At all.
No internal debate. No second-guessing. No feeling like I was missing out.
I simply didn’t want it.
What?! Who is this person? 😂
But don’t worry. I still need my adventures.
A few days ago, I had this overwhelming desire to get out of my little Rishikesh bubble and experience something different.
So I asked my Indian friend to take me on an adventure to Haridwar.
And it was exactly what I needed.
The energy, the culture, the people, the beautiful chaos of India. I loved every minute of it.
I came home feeling recharged, fulfilled, and completely alive.
And that’s when another piece of this started clicking.
I’m not becoming some quiet, detached person who wants to sit around meditating all day.
I still need adventure. I still love spontaneity. I still want to dance, laugh, explore, connect, and experience everything this incredible world has to offer.
But maybe I’m getting better at recognizing when I genuinely want those things and when I simply feel like I should want them.
I didn’t go to Haridwar because I was afraid of missing out.
I went because I wanted to.
And that is a very different kind of yes.
The little voice is still there.
Here’s something else I’ve noticed.
That familiar little voice hasn’t completely disappeared.
“You should go.”
“You should finish your food.”
“You might be missing out.”
“You haven’t seen those people in a while.”
It’s still there.
But it’s quieter.
And perhaps more importantly, it’s no longer making all the decisions.
I think sometimes we imagine personal growth as reaching this magical place where we never feel guilt, obligation, FOMO, or the need to please other people again.
But maybe that’s not how it works.
Maybe growth is recognizing those feelings, acknowledging them, and then making a choice that feels right for us anyway.
And I’m finally starting to recognize all the little ways that’s happening in my own life.
An unfinished plate.
A declined glass of wine.
A quiet evening.
An impulsive adventure to Haridwar.
None of these is a dramatic breakthrough on its own.
But together?
They’re telling me something.
I’m giving myself permission to want what I actually want, rather than what I’ve always expected myself to want.
And wow. That feels good.
What if peace is actually kind of boring?
This might be my favorite realization of all.
For years, I’ve been on this journey of self-discovery, healing, growth, and figuring out what it means to live a life that truly feels like mine.
And somewhere along the way, I think I expected there would be this moment.
THE moment.
The big epiphany. The overwhelming wave of joy. The unmistakable feeling that I’d finally arrived at my happy place.
You know, cue the angels singing and the sun breaking through the clouds.
But that’s not what’s happening.
Instead, I’m experiencing something so subtle I almost missed it.
Ease.
Peace.
Contentment.
An absence of that constant inner argument about what I should be doing.
And honestly? It’s almost imperceptible.
Until I stop and notice it.
I’ve spent so much of my life operating with some version of “I should be doing this” or “I should be doing that” running through my mind.
I should be more social. I should take advantage of this opportunity. I should say yes. I should be productive. I should make the most of every single moment.
Somewhere along the way, that internal negotiation became my normal.
I didn’t even realize how much noise it was making.
Until it started getting quiet.
And now I’m beginning to wonder:
What if contentment isn’t some enormous feeling of happiness? What if it’s simply not fighting with yourself all the time?
What if it’s just being where you are, doing what feels right, and not needing to explain or justify it?
It’s powerful in the most silent way.
There’s actually a word for this.
In yoga philosophy, there’s a concept called santosha, often translated as contentment.
It’s one of the niyamas, the personal observances outlined in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras.
Santosha isn’t about giving up your desires or deciding you don’t want anything anymore.
It’s about cultivating a sense of enoughness. Finding peace with what is, rather than constantly reaching for what you think should be.
And perhaps that’s a little of what I’m experiencing here.
Not because I’ve mastered some ancient yogic principle. Believe me, I haven’t!
But because after nearly a month of yoga, pranayama, meditation, reflection, and simply living in this special place, I seem to be getting a little better at hearing myself.
And trusting what I hear.
Maybe coming home to yourself is quieter than you think.
Here’s what I want to leave you with.
Try something.
For just half a day, pay attention to the little decisions you’re making.
Not the big, life-changing ones.
The ordinary ones.
Do you really want to go to lunch, or do you feel obligated because someone invited you?
Are you still hungry, or are you finishing what’s on your plate out of habit?
Do you genuinely want to go out tonight, or are you afraid you might miss something?
And maybe most importantly, what would you choose if you didn’t feel the need to justify your decision to anyone, including yourself?
Pause long enough to listen.
Your body and your feelings can offer valuable clues. They aren’t always the whole answer, but perhaps you’ve been so busy doing what you think you’re supposed to do that you haven’t given yourself much space to notice them.
And don’t mistake this newfound contentment for a boring life.
Far from it!
Life can be so much more exciting when you’re choosing experiences because you genuinely want them, rather than because you think you should.
Sometimes that means jumping into the beautiful chaos of India.
Sometimes it means sitting quietly beside the Ganga.
Sometimes it means saying yes to the wine.
And sometimes it means saying, “You know what? Not today.”
You get to be all of those versions of yourself.
And the beautiful thing is, none of this may look very different from the outside.
But inside?
Something shifts.
You feel a little lighter. A little more at ease. A little more comfortable in your own skin.
And one day, you find yourself staring at a half-eaten plate of food, wondering why you’ve been ordering so much all this time.
And suddenly, you recognize a pattern.
Maybe it’s not just the food.
Maybe you’ve been taking on more than you need in lots of little ways.
More obligations. More expectations. More shoulds.
And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to put some of those down.
I thought coming home to myself would mean discovering some entirely new version of who I am.
But perhaps it’s simply learning to listen to the woman I’ve always been.
And after almost a month here in Rishikesh, I think I’m finally beginning to understand what that feels like.
Not a grand arrival.
Not a dramatic transformation.
Just a little more peace, a little less noise, and the freedom to simply be me.
And that, my friends, feels pretty magical.
With love from Rishikesh,
Wandering Toward the Light ✨
