What I Miss—and What I Don’t

Change has a funny way of catching you off guard. Sometimes, it’s loud and life-shaking. Other times, it’s quiet—like the slow realization that you’ve outgrown a part of your life, or that the version of you who once fit somewhere now feels like a guest in your own routine.

Since stepping into a new chapter, I’ve had time to sit with these shifts, to take stock. And to be honest, it’s not all clean breaks nor easy goodbyes. Some still tug at me. Others, I’ve released with relief. So here it is—what I miss (and what I don’t) about the life I left behind.

What I Miss

1. Structure and predictability

There was comfort in the clockwork. I knew where I had to be, what needed to get done, and how to measure a “successful” day. It made things feel stable—even when I wasn’t. There’s a strange sort of calm that comes from knowing your week down to the hour.

2. The buzz of being always on the go

There was something kind of exciting about always being on the move—jumping from meetings to meetups, crossing things off my to-do list, always having somewhere to be. I miss that buzz, that feeling like you’re caught up in the flow of it all, part of something bigger and constantly in motion.

3. Dressing with purpose

Call me sentimental, but I sometimes miss getting ready in the morning with intention. Picking an outfit not for comfort, but to show up—professionally, socially, or just with energy. I miss my suit and my high heels. Now, my clothes lean more toward function and softness, and while I love that, there was power in dressing to meet the day head-on.

4. The people I love

I miss the friends I saw almost every day—my office friends who got me through long days with inside jokes and post-work beers, the uni and high school best friends who knew me before life got complicated, and the family I could just drop in on during the holidays without needing to plan months ahead. Some people leave a space no one else quite fills. I carry them with me, and I miss them more often than I let on.

What I Don’t Miss

1. The constant noise

There was always something demanding attention—a message, a meeting, a decision, a notification. Even in moments meant for rest, my mind was scanning for the next thing. I don’t miss the mental clutter or the illusion that being busy meant being important.

2. The commute and the traffic

I definitely don’t miss the stress of racing the clock every morning. Sitting in bumper-to-bumper congestion, watching the minutes slip away, wasn’t exactly the best way to start—or end—a day. Life now moves at a gentler pace, and I don’t take that for granted.

3. The chase

There was always something to strive for, but never quite enough time to enjoy reaching it. Achievements were quickly replaced by new goals. I rarely stopped to say, “This is enough.” I don’t want to go back living in that endless loop of more.

4. Losing time without knowing it

Some weeks felt like a blur. I’d look up and realize I hadn’t really felt anything—just moved through a checklist. Life became a series of tasks rather than a string of moments. I was getting things done, sure, but I wasn’t really living through them.  I wasn’t unhappy, exactly—I just felt disconnected. From myself. From time. From the little joys that make a day memorable.

5. Needing an excuse to rest

Back then, rest needed a reason. I had to earn it. Taking a vacation meant proving I’d worked hard enough to deserve it. A slow morning had to be explained. Now I’ve realized that rest isn’t something you have to earn—it’s something you’re allowed to have, simply because you’re human.

Somewhere In Between

The truth is, I’m not trying to rewrite the past or pretend it didn’t shape me. It did—deeply. It taught me about discipline, self-worth, resilience, and what I thought I wanted.

But I’ve also learned that nostalgia can be selective. It’s easy to romanticize the past, especially when the present feels slower or unfamiliar. It rarely reminds you how exhausted you were, how often you doubted yourself, or how loudly your body was asking you to slow down.

I still carry pieces of my old life with me—the focus, the drive, the confidence to figure things out. But now, I hold those things more gently. I no longer need them to define me—they’re just tools I bring into a new kind of life. One with more room to breathe, more pauses between the lines, more space to just be.

And maybe that’s the real win—not choosing between old and new, but letting the best of both live together. ⋆˙⟡