Life... But With Better Settings.

The world is obsessed with fresh starts.

I, of course, should know. I argue that I've spent the past 14 years (possibly 18 years, really) not feeling settled or in a place that feels like I belong in it. 

And you should know... I'm exhausted. I've been exhausted. 

And this is typically where a dream of a new beginning - a new home, a new city, a new job - is what I should be prescribed.

Blank slates.

Reinvention narrative wrapped in the language of virtue. 

But how exhausting.

A fresh start can imply a catastrophe. A scorched field. A need to apologize to the future for the past. 

And that's never what it actually is. And certainly not what I am feeling right now. Nothing has collapsed. Or failed spectacularly. Or requires redemption.

What is required is calibration. 

There is a difference between being wrong and being lightly off. Between chaos and poor lighting. Between misalignment and collapse. Life still works. It simply needs better settings. Sometimes they are more elaborate. Sometimes more quiet.

Recalibration is the work of a woman who knows what she is doing.

It is refinement, not rescue. Is is the refusal to throw away what is good simply because it no longer feels exquisite. It's noticing where effort has become performative. Where urgency has been mistaken for importance. Where you are doing too much at a volume no one asked for.

Taste, after all, is an intelligence.

And taste evolves.

At a certain point, you stop needing dramatic change and start craving precision. The right pace. The right people. The right amount of explanation, which is to say: very little. 

Recalibration happens quietly. In the evening. 

When the lamp is low and the day is finally done making demands.

It asks a better question than, "What should I do next?"

It asks: Is this still elegant? Is this still mine? Is this still worth the energy it costs?

Not everything needs to be new. But everything need to be chosen.

Adjust the light. Lower the noise. Keep what works.

Discard the rest without sentimentality.

That is not retreat. That is taste asserting itself.