For the last twelve months, I have lived in what author Jennifer Pastiloff calls “the beautiful middle.” Not the exciting beginning of a new dream, and not the glorious end where you finally "make it." Just the middle. The place where you put in the work, refresh your inbox one too many times, and wonder if you’re actually moving forward or just running in place.
Not because I didn’t want to be here. But because I had spent so long believing that success requires a perfect, linear map . Graduate. Get the job. Climb the ladder. Repeat.
I don't know what the next year holds. Maybe I'll go back to a corporate job. Maybe I'll write a book. Maybe I'll surprise myself and take a pottery class.
The Art of Showing Up: Lessons from a Year of "Not Knowing"
Being a modern Indian woman in a creative field comes with its own unique hum. The hum of expectations. "When will you settle down?" sits right next to "Why aren't you earning more?" in the symphony of family WhatsApp forwards.
I love my roots. I love the chaos of Durga Puja, the smell of shiuli flowers, the way my mother says "thakur dekha" (seeing God) as if peace is just a temple visit away. But I also love my quiet studio apartment, my unconventional hours, and the fact that I don't have to answer to anyone for taking a nap at 3 PM.
Life, as it turns out, prefers a messy spiral.
I am learning that honoring your heritage doesn't mean living exactly like your parents did. It means carrying the best parts forward—the resilience, the hospitality, the fire—while building your own architecture around them.