23 Things I Learned in 23 Years
love, comfort, friendships, hardships and career: a small but big life.
"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." — Maya Angelou
At 23, these words have begun to take root within me, their truth unfurling like pages of a book I’ve only just begun to understand. Life, with its peculiar blend of chaos and beauty, has revealed itself not in dramatic crescendos but in hushed, unguarded moments—the ones that demand patience and self-reckoning.
What follows isn’t a proclamation of wisdom but a mosaic of lessons, fragile and imperfect, collected from moments of triumph, failure, love, and solitude. Writing them feels like holding up a mirror to my soul, a way of preserving the person I’ve been and honoring the one I’m becoming.
Each of these reflections is a thread in the ever-evolving tapestry of existence, contributing to a deeper understanding of growth as a journey rather than a destination. They remind us that life’s wisdom often resides in its paradoxes—the beauty within its messiness, and the strength found in vulnerability. Together, they tell a story that’s deeply personal yet universally familiar—a story of searching, stumbling, and finding meaning in the in-between.
So let’s grab a warm cup of chai or coffee, find a quiet corner, and sit with these reflections. Let them settle, resonate, and spark something within as we navigate the wild, beautiful journey of being alive.
(choose yourself, try and try, and never stop!)
1. Showing Up for Yourself Is the Most Important Promise
Showing up for yourself is not about grandeur but the quiet act of survival. It’s choosing to rise from bed when the weight of your thoughts feels like gravity’s cruel joke. It’s forgiving yourself when you fall short, even when your inner critic is relentless.
This year, showing up meant making hard decisions—walking away from the comfort of familiarity that had turned into a cage. I found myself sitting in a dimly lit room, my heart heavy yet oddly still, as I chose to write instead of scrolling mindlessly on my phone. That small act felt monumental, a whispered promise to myself: I’m here for you.
Each time you choose to meet yourself where you are, you build resilience. Self-respect, I’ve learned, begins at the intersection of boundaries and forgiveness—a place where you refuse to abandon yourself, no matter how messy it gets.
2. Change: Painful Yet Transformative
Change is a tempest, stripping away the old to make room for the unfamiliar. It’s the aching void of stepping into a new city, leaving behind the comfort of faces that knew your stories. It’s saying yes to opportunities that terrify you, not knowing if they’ll fit.
There was a moment this year, standing in a bustling train station with a suitcase and no clear plan, where I felt an unexpected calm. Change, I realized, doesn’t just take; it gives. It carves out space for growth, for the person you’re on the verge of becoming.
Growth is seldom loud. It’s the quiet realization that what once broke you no longer holds power. It’s the courage to start over, knowing you carry every version of yourself within you.
3. The World Is Watching Less Than You Think
For much of my life, I lived as if every misstep were under the unrelenting scrutiny of the world. The truth, though, is far gentler: most people are far too consumed by their own narratives to linger on ours.
Take the typo I once agonized over in an important email, or the time I stumbled over my words in a meeting. What felt monumental in my head didn’t even register with others. Realizing this was like stepping off an imagined stage and into the quiet warmth of freedom.
The imagined spotlight, I’ve come to learn, is dimmer than we believe—and that is its greatest gift. It’s permission to release the fear of judgment and embrace authenticity. Since embracing this, I’ve found joy in being unapologetically imperfect, in laughing at my mistakes, and in taking risks without the weight of imaginary expectations.
4. The Art of Small Acts
Life is often measured by its grand milestones, but this year I’ve found the deepest meaning in the small, unassuming acts—a cup of tea brewed in silence, a single flower blooming in a neglected garden, a text sent just to say, “I’m thinking of you.”
One evening, feeling overwhelmed, I spent an hour carefully arranging books on my shelf. It was a mundane act, yet it brought a sense of order to my chaos. These moments, however ordinary, are where life’s essence resides. They remind us that beauty often whispers, and meaning is hidden in the everyday acts of care and attention. Drinking water became more than a necessity; it became a deliberate reminder to slow down, to breathe, to reclaim a sense of control amid the chaos. In the chaos of life, drinking water has become an unlikely act of grounding. Each sip is an invitation to pause, a reminder that even in overwhelming moments, care can be simple.
One evening, after a meeting that left me unraveling, I stood by the kitchen sink and drank a glass of water in silence. The coolness against my lips felt like an embrace, a tiny rebellion against the noise. In that moment, I understood that rituals, no matter how small, tether us to the present.
5. Friendships Demand Care, Not Perfection
Friendships are living, breathing things—fragile yet resilient. This year, I learned that love within them is measured not by proximity but by intention. A text that says, “I thought of you today,” a laugh shared across miles, the quiet understanding of space—these are the threads that hold us together.
Some friendships fade, and that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to walk your entire journey with you. But the ones that endure, even with gaps in time and distance, remind you that connection is not about frequency but presence.
6. Unfinished Does Not Mean Unworthy
For years, the half-read books on my shelves and the abandoned projects in my drawer whispered of failure. But now, they feel like evidence of exploration. To start something, even without finishing, is to honor curiosity.
There’s an unfinished scarf I tried to knit one winter, its stitches uneven and clumsy. It’s not a failure; it’s a snapshot of a moment when I let myself try. Life itself is unfinished, a perpetual draft, and that is its beauty.
7. Embracing the Complexity of Emotions
Life is a kaleidoscope of emotions—grief, joy, frustration, hope—all spinning together in an unpredictable dance. This year, I learned that suppressing emotions doesn’t make them disappear; it amplifies their whispers into deafening echoes. Instead, I began to embrace the fullness of my feelings, understanding that they each have a role to play.
One evening, I allowed myself to cry over something that seemed trivial—a canceled plan with a friend. But as the tears fell, they carried with them weeks of unspoken stress and unacknowledged sadness. By the time I stopped, I felt lighter, freer. Letting emotions flow is not a sign of weakness; it’s a way of honoring your inner world.
Emotions, even the painful ones, are not problems to fix but signals to acknowledge. They remind us that we are alive, fully and beautifully human, and that each moment—no matter how complex—is worth experiencing.
8. Documenting Life Is an Act of Preservation
Whether through journal entries, photographs, or voice memos, documenting life has become a way of saying, “This mattered.” It’s leaving breadcrumbs for my future self, proof that even fleeting joy leaves a mark.
On a snowy evening, I recorded a video of myself saying, “Remember this moment—this stillness.” Watching it months later felt like opening a time capsule, a reminder from a younger me that happiness existed, even briefly.
9. Failure Is Not the End
Every rejection, every stumble has been a lesson in disguise. Failure, I’ve learned, isn’t a period; it’s a semicolon—a pause before the next attempt.
This year, I submitted work that felt imperfect and saw it lead to opportunities I never imagined. Perfection is not a prerequisite for growth. Showing up, despite the fear of falling, is what matters.
10. Joy Is in the Smallest Things
The scent of rain on dry earth. The first sip of coffee on a sleepy morning. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind. These moments are the punctuation marks in the narrative of life, brief yet profound.
The grand milestones are few and far between, but the small joys sustain us. They are life’s quiet poetry, waiting to be noticed.
11. Kindness Is Never Wasted
Kindness is the gentle ripple that moves unseen across the surface of the world. It’s the small acts—holding the door open for a stranger, a genuine compliment, a listening ear—that may seem inconsequential but carry immeasurable weight. This year, I realized that kindness is not only about how others receive it but also about how it transforms the giver.
There was a day I offered to help a coworker struggling with a deadline. It wasn’t my responsibility, but stepping in lifted her burden and brightened both our days. Kindness, no matter how small, is never wasted—it is a thread weaving us all together in quiet unity.
12. Rest Is Essential, Not Earned
The world glorifies exhaustion, as if rest must be justified by productivity. But I’ve learned that rest is a right, not a reward. It’s in the quiet moments—a long nap, an afternoon spent reading without guilt—that I reconnect with myself.
One night, after weeks of relentless deadlines, I lay on the floor of my apartment listening to music with no agenda. It felt indulgent and yet profoundly healing. Rest is not about doing nothing; it’s about creating space for everything else to breathe. When I’ve allowed myself moments of intentional rest, I’ve seen my creativity bloom in unexpected ways—like a sudden idea for a story while lying on the couch or the clarity to solve a work problem after a peaceful nap. Rest resets the mind and replenishes the soul, reminding me that stepping back is sometimes the only way to move forward.
13. Boundaries Are Acts of Love
For years, I feared that saying no was synonymous with rejection. This year taught me that boundaries are not walls; they are bridges built with care. They protect not only your energy but also the integrity of your relationships.
Setting boundaries meant having honest conversations, some of which were painful. It meant declining invitations when I needed solitude. In doing so, I realized that boundaries are acts of love—for yourself and for those you choose to keep in your life.
14. Life Is Better Shared
Joy multiplies when shared, and burdens feel lighter when carried together. This year, I leaned into my relationships, letting go of the myth that independence means isolation. There is strength in admitting that you need others.
I remember a simple dinner with friends where laughter filled the room, the kind of laughter that makes you forget time. It reminded me that life’s richness often lies in its shared moments, in the connections that ground us.
15. You’re Allowed to Outgrow People and Places
Outgrowing isn’t a betrayal; it’s a natural part of becoming. This year, I let go of friendships and environments that no longer aligned with who I’m becoming. It was bittersweet, but necessary.
I walked past a familiar café one evening, a place once filled with memories. Instead of sadness, I felt gratitude. Outgrowing doesn’t erase the value of the past; it honors it while making space for the future. I remember cleaning out my childhood bedroom, holding onto old concert tickets and handwritten notes. Each item felt like a tether to the person I used to be. Letting them go wasn’t easy, but it was freeing. It was a way of saying, "Thank you for shaping me," while stepping boldly into the life I’m building now.
16. Humor Is a Lifeline
When life feels heavy, humor can be the lightest thing in the room. A silly meme, an uncontrollable fit of laughter, even a self-deprecating joke—these moments have kept me afloat.
Once, after a particularly embarrassing mishap at work, I joked about it with my colleagues. What could have been a source of shame turned into a shared moment of levity. Humor doesn’t diminish the seriousness of life; it adds texture to its complexity.
17. Nostalgia Can Be a Gift and a Trap
Memories are beautiful but fragile things. Revisiting them can be comforting, like leafing through an old photo album. But living in them is a disservice to the present.
One rainy afternoon, I found myself revisiting songs from a past relationship. It felt like holding onto a ghost. I’ve learned to let nostalgia be a guest, not a permanent resident. The past shaped me, but the present is where I live. Embracing this mindset has shifted my priorities—from clinging to old narratives to actively creating new ones. It’s helped me focus on the choices I make today, knowing they shape the stories I will tell tomorrow. Living in the present has taught me to treasure the fleeting joys of now rather than longing for the familiarity of then.
18. Your Worth Is Inherent
This year, I unlearned the lie that worth is earned through achievement. Your value isn’t tied to your productivity, your accolades, or anyone’s opinion. It simply is.
One morning, I stood before a mirror and said aloud, “You are enough.” It felt awkward, almost ridiculous, but it planted a seed. Self-worth is a practice, not a destination.
19. Community Is Everything
Isolation may feel safe, but connection is what keeps us whole. This year, I sought out communities that nurtured my growth—book clubs, volunteer groups, even online forums. Each reminded me that we are not meant to navigate life alone.
In the laughter of strangers-turned-friends, I found pieces of myself. Community is where we find belonging, where our stories intertwine.
20. Love Looks Different Every Time
Love is not a monolith. It shifts and evolves, showing up in unexpected ways. This year, I saw love in the way my friend left a note on my desk, in the way my family checked in during quiet moments, in the way I learned to hold space for myself.
Romanticized versions of love often miss its quiet persistence. Love is a choice made daily, in the small acts that say, “I see you, and I’m here.”
21. Movement Is Healing
When words fail, movement speaks. A long walk, dancing alone in my room, or stretching after a hard day—these acts remind me that my body holds its own wisdom.
One morning, feeling weighed down by anxiety, I laced up my shoes and went for a jog. With every step, the weight lifted. Movement is more than physical; it’s a way of processing life’s messiness.
22. Lean Into the Cringe
The things that make you cringe are often the most honest expressions of who you are. This year, I leaned into vulnerability—singing terribly at karaoke, sharing my poetry with friends, wearing outfits that felt bold.
Each time, I felt exposed yet alive. The cringe-worthy moments are where authenticity lives. They’re proof that you’re showing up as yourself.
23. Life Is Beautiful and Absurd
Life’s contradictions—its beauty and chaos, its heartbreak and wonder—are what make it extraordinary. This year, I embraced its absurdity, finding meaning not in answers but in the act of questioning.
One evening, staring at the night sky, I felt the vastness of existence and the smallness of my place within it. Life doesn’t always make sense, but its messiness is its magic. The mundane and the magnificent coexist, and together, they create something breathtaking.
These reflections are not meant to provide definitive answers, nor are they a roadmap to life’s great mysteries. They are fragments—a mosaic of growth, uncertainty, and small victories that remind us how achingly beautiful and maddeningly imperfect life can be.
And that’s okay. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: we don’t need all the answers. We only need the courage to sit with the questions, to keep moving forward, even when the road is unclear.
“Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.” — Leonard Cohen
So, here’s a little song for ya’ll—
So, let’s gather ourselves—raw, messy, and whole—and raise a glass (or a cup of chai) to the lessons that shape us and the ones still to come. Let’s step into the unknown with grace, gratitude, and a little bit of grit. Life, after all, is not about getting it right but about living it fully.
A very happy new year, wishing you all lots of happiness, love and good health.
love,
Mukta<3
