On the invisible drift and the soft return to aliveness.
There was a time when everything in my life looked fine—on paper.
I was showing up. Ticking boxes. Smiling when needed. People said I seemed “balanced,” even “calm.” But inside, I felt like a room with the lights dimmed. Not sad. Not angry. Just… muted. As if someone had turned down the volume on life.
I wasn’t drowning. I was drifting.
No one noticed. Not even me, for a while. It crept in subtly—like dust collecting on shelves. Joy didn’t leave in a dramatic storm; it quietly slipped out the back door.
And so, I adjusted. I told myself it was just a phase. That I was being practical. That maybe this is just what adult life feels like.
Until one morning, I found myself sitting on a bench in a quiet park. I was sipping lukewarm tea, watching a child chasing bubbles. She laughed—a full-bellied, unapologetic laugh—and I felt a sharp ache in my chest.
Not pain. Not envy. Just the sudden awareness of how long it had been since something made me feel that alive.
That was the whisper. The first sign that joy wasn’t gone—it was waiting.
We often assume that joy must be loud. That it should arrive like fireworks or fanfare. But more often, it returns in the smallest ways. A song you forgot you loved. The smell of something familiar. A walk where your shoulders feel lighter for no reason at all.
Sometimes, the heart doesn’t need grand gestures. It just needs permission to feel again.
If you find yourself in this quiet in-between—where nothing’s particularly wrong, but nothing feels deeply right either—know that you’re not alone. This emotional drift is not failure. It’s not numbness. It’s a space. A pause. A call to notice.
Start with small invitations: light a candle without a reason. Revisit a place that once made you feel more yourself. Make tea and sit with it like it’s your only task.
You don’t need to chase joy. You just need to make space for its return.
Because sometimes, aliveness doesn’t roar.
Sometimes, it knocks softly—just to see if you’re home.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.