When Peace Became the Measure.

For the last year or two, I’d already been slowing down in my real estate business - long before I decided to give it up. Not intentionally at first. More out of fatigue than clarity. The drive I once had just wasn’t there anymore. I was still capable, still competent, still showing up, but something in me felt quieter. Less willing. Less convinced that pushing harder was the answer anymore.

And yet, I kept going.

Partly because I thought I had to. Because I had responsibilities to my clients, a lifestyle I enjoyed, and a familiar voice that said, This is what you do. This is who you are. You can’t stop yet.

And of course, there was fear. A quiet, persistent fear that asked practical questions. Can I afford to stop? What does this mean for the way I live? What would I have to let go of?

I think many people stay where they are (not just in their careers), not because they love it, but because the cost of change feels too uncertain. We’re taught to measure safety in numbers, in predictability, in maintaining what we’ve built - even when it no longer feels right and true.

What I realized, slowly, was that the fear wasn’t just about money; it was also about identity. About releasing a version of life I’d organised myself around for years, and trusting that a different way of living could still be enough. Maybe even, dare I say - better.

So, because of these thoughts that kept swirling around inside my head and keeping me up at night, I tried to keep grinding - without the heart for it.

Then something shifted last year. I don’t have a perfect word for it. Awakening feels close, but incomplete. I don’t know exactly what happened, only that after completing my first book, A Self-Love Journey, I came out the other side caring far less about the things I once believed mattered. The lifestyle. The accumulation. The constant push to maintain what I’d already outgrown.

What surprised me most wasn’t the slowing down - it was the relief. The realization that I didn’t actually WANT to keep up anymore.

These days, what matters now feels simpler, deeper, and more in tune with who I really am. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s the quiet awareness that time isn’t abstract - that it moves, and it matters. I want to spend it well. Lately, I’ve found more peace - and more joy - in the small, ordinary moments I once rushed past, and maybe didn't appreciate as much as I should have.

That means more time with the people I love. Unrushed conversations. Watching my grandchildren grow, not through photos or FaceTime, but in ordinary moments that can’t be scheduled.

I find myself longing for nature more than the noise of the city. For mornings that don't need to be productive. Aimless walks. For being by the ocean, where perspective comes easily, and near the mountains, where stillness reminds you what actually endures.

This isn’t about giving something up. It’s about choosing differently. I haven’t lost ambition - I’ve just stopped letting it run my life. Growth still matters to me, but it looks more like inner expansion than external proof. More presence. More honesty. More alignment with who I am now, not who I once thought I needed to be.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still listening. Still learning. Still allowing myself to imagine a life that feels spacious instead of rushed. But I know this much... I’m done with the grind. I’m choosing a slower, truer rhythm. And I’m trusting that this season - this quieter one - holds its own kind of peace.