Warm tea in hand, fluffy socks on, and Lofi Girl playing softly in the background – that’s how I started my day. Sitting in my kitchen this morning, I looked out the small window above the sink, the one that always reminds me I’m back in the UK.
I’ve been thinking about this window a lot lately.
Between books, work, and renovation projects abroad, it’s easy to forget what I actually call home. But every time I glance outside and see the row of English houses with their charming architecture, I’m reminded of how beautiful my surroundings truly are. That view anchors me – it grounds me in the present moment.
It also makes me wonder: What do you see outside your window? What shapes your daily reality? Sometimes, the simplest views can bring the greatest clarity.
As I sipped my mint tea (chamomile at night, mint or coconut milk matcha in the morning), I mentally listed the small things that bring me peace – the quiet hum of a calm apartment on a foggy October morning, a good book, a favourite song, an old oak tree, and that comforting English view outside my window.
Who needs designer bags when you have all this?
A few weeks ago, I found myself on a whirlwind of travel – Romania for two weeks, back to the UK for a day, then off to Finland for a long weekend, back again for two days, followed by three days in Spain, a brief return, and another trip back to Romania.
When I finally got home a few days ago to the English countryside and stepped into the shower, I caught myself staring at the glass door for a moment – everything felt strangely foreign, as if I’d forgotten what home looked like.
Spain was a work trip, and I went alone. I walked the beach in silence, soaking in the stillness. Those quiet moments were deeply nourishing. I also did something I’d been wanting to do for a long time – I faced myself honestly.
I started thinking about all the versions of me I’d been holding onto – some shaped by my own expectations, others by people around me. These versions had become heavy, and I finally felt ready to let them go.
With pen and paper, I wrote them down:
- The version of me that never left Romania.
- The one still leading worship at church.
- The version of me who already had children.
- The daughter who could take her mom out for lunch on a random Tuesday.
Living abroad doesn’t leave much room for those spontaneous moments. By the end, I had a long list – some of the versions were deeply personal – parts of me that I’d grieved, resisted, or clung to for too long.
On a warm summer morning, walking along the Spanish beach, I prayed over that list and then tore it into pieces. It might sound small or even silly, but for me, it was a sacred act of release – a physical way of letting go.
You can’t change your past or rewrite your choices, but you can choose to live intentionally in the present. You can be grateful for who you are now and make space for what’s still to come.
Letting go means releasing the memories and expectations of who you thought you’d be – and accepting who you are today.
This morning, as I sat by that familiar kitchen window, I came across a passage in the book I’m currently reading. The timing felt divine:
“This is the question: What do we keep? What do we let go because it makes us lighter, because it opens up space, because it keeps us right in the moment and location of where we are – not yearning for a world that doesn’t exist anymore, a self that doesn’t exist anymore? And what do we keep because it’s part of the story of who we are, not just in this moment, but over years and decades – our essential selves?”
Shauna Niequist
So today, I want to challenge you:
What do you need to let go of?
What version of yourself are you still mourning?
Are there people, dreams, or old expectations you still carry – even though they no longer serve you?
It’s not easy to let go. I know. But maybe it’s time to make room for what could be. Let God surprise you. Let your window view – whatever it is – remind you that life is happening right now, right here.
