Rachna says

This year did not ease in gently. It arrived like an overenthusiastic guest who refuses to take off their shoes. After months of constant travel, staying home felt unexpectedly lovely. Quieter, yes. Also a bit strange. The house suddenly seems too big for just the two of us, like it’s politely asking, “Is that all?”

And yet, there is something comforting about home. I am a homebody, at heart.

There is time now. Time to sleep an extra half an hour without wrecking any schedule. Time to make a leisurely cup of ginger tea and sit and stare into the distance like I am in a slow, thoughtful film. Time to cook without rushing, to play music, to dance around the kitchen with zero coordination and full confidence. Highly recommended, by the way. Time to listen to 2-hour-long podcasts. Time to admire the dainty leaves of the many potted plants around the home.

I have earned this “time” after frenetic years of raising a family and balancing a career. I do appreciate this gentle calming routine.

While the outside world seems determined to unravel itself on a daily basis, this little corner has become my sanity zone. I have consciously stepped back from consuming too much news. Not out of ignorance, but self-preservation. There is only so much despair one can absorb before it starts to feel pointless to even talk about it.

Also, can we talk about how basic decency seems to have quietly exited the building ever since social media showed up? People say the harshest things with impressive boldness, safely tucked behind screens. When the tone is set at the top by leaders who seem to have misplaced their sense of integrity, it is not exactly shocking that the rest of the crowd follows suit. Being crude has somehow become trendy. What a time to be alive!

Anyway, March turned into something else entirely for me. A bit of a turning inward.

After spending five decades being many things to many people, ticking off responsibilities, meeting expectations, I found myself asking a simple question: what about me? Not in a dramatic, midlife-crisis kind of way. More like a quiet curiosity. What does happiness look like if it comes from within?

So I went back to meditation. I have dabbled in it over the years, the way one “dabbles” in waking up early (does not work for me). This time, though, I stuck with it. Every day for a month. I even joined the Happiness Program by the Art of Living, which, quite honestly, showed up at just the right moment. I was already circling the same thoughts about purpose and inner contentment, so it felt less like a coincidence and more like good timing finally doing its job.

Somewhere in my 40s, I had already started caring a lot less about what people thought of me. A delayed but very welcome development. It is freeing, really, to live mostly on your own terms and not constantly check an imaginary audience for approval. Highly recommend that too.

These days, I have added about 30–40 minutes of meditation and pranayam to my routine. It has made a noticeable difference. As someone who has navigated the rollercoaster of anxiety during perimenopause and menopause, I can say this: breathing, of all things, is wildly underrated. It does not solve everything, but it does quiet the constant mental chatter. And sometimes, that is enough.

I am also learning to let go. Of control. Of unnecessary worry and angst. Of the strong urge to offer advice on everything (a work in progress). The only exception, of course, is my kids. I reserve the right to gently nudge them toward my “very wise” opinions when needed.

More importantly, I am trying to be kinder to myself. Less judgment, more acceptance. I am a genuinely nice person, not given to abusing or disrespect even under great provocation. It is high time I appreciated my qualities more in this crazy world with nasty people.

Anyhow, It is early days in this whole self-discovery chapter, but so far, I like where it’s going.

The goal now is simple: do more of what feels right, let go of what does not and learn to find happiness from within.