Physically and emotionally grounded!

In recent days, my world has been shaken—Kathmandu has experienced six earthquakes in 30 days and it is not feasible that I travel at this point, but by a different kind of upheaval. Plans that had been set in motion, ones I had poured my energy into, have come to a grinding halt. And I find myself in the strange space between what could have been and what is.

Sitting in my study, with the sound of an airplane overhead, I couldn't help but feel a heavy weight on my chest. It’s a stark contrast, really—here I am, grounded in South Africa, listening to the high-energy beats of “I’m So Excited” by the Pointer Sisters. It's supposed to lift my spirits, change the vibration of my day, but instead, I found myself in tears. Not because I wanted to cry, but because I couldn't change the course of the moment.

It’s almost as though my excitement and plans—so carefully crafted—are now out of reach. My dreams feel distant, almost like they belong to a past version of myself. The vibration of excitement, the desire to move forward, has shifted into one of frustration, uncertainty, and emotional release. I needed to do something—anything—to break free from the weight of a plan that just wasn't working out. But all I could do was cry.

This is different. It feels deeper than just a failed trip or delayed plans. It’s as though the life I had envisioned is fading, and with it, my old sense of control. I’ve spent years building a life based on certainty and structure, but now, I’m left questioning: What does it mean when the structure crumbles? What happens when your carefully made plans are no longer valid?

In these days of uncertainty, I have to admit: things are going to get a little rough, maybe even a little boring. The idea of being grounded—whether physically or emotionally—doesn’t always feel comforting. But it’s real. And I’m here, feeling it.

I can’t travel. I can’t escape. So, I am, quite literally, grounded. But is that necessarily a bad thing? In these moments of emotional vulnerability, I’ve realized that being grounded doesn’t always have to mean being stuck. Sometimes it means being present—being in the moment even when the future feels uncertain.

 “Run, run as far as you can go and get away from everything that no longer serves you" is all I hear in the back of mind. I’m tempted to run, of course—far from the disappointment, far from the feeling that life is slipping through my fingers. But maybe running isn’t the answer. Maybe it’s about standing still, letting the tears flow, and acknowledging that sometimes things fall apart so something new can begin.

And so, here I am—hitting the ground full steam ahead, but not necessarily in the way I expected. It’s not about rushing toward something new; it’s about accepting the now. It’s about sitting in the discomfort and still moving forward, even if that forward movement is small or unplanned.

So, I’ll let the tears flow. I’ll keep listening to songs that don’t quite match my mood. I’ll allow myself to feel the weight of uncertainty, knowing that this too shall pass. Perhaps the space between the tears and the music, between the frustration and the hope, is exactly where I need to be right now.

I may be grounded, but I am far from stuck. And sometimes, it’s in the stillness that the biggest transformations occur.

This isn’t the end of the story, it’s just a chapter. And I’m ready to keep writing it, no matter where it takes me.