Ashes in the Light

For the past few months, I’ve been slowly reliving our honeymoon through these pages.

Each entry brought me back to another little moment.

A family-run restaurant in Kakheti.

Snow falling just as we left Kazbegi.

A cup of tea overlooking Istanbul.

Writing the series almost felt like travelling all over again.

Then I reached the final post.

Closed my laptop.

And looked up.

The trip was over.

Not just the holiday itself.

But also the months I’d spent revisiting it through writing.

Returning to everyday life after a meaningful trip is always a little strange.

The emails are still waiting.

Meetings continue.

Deadlines don’t disappear simply because you’ve stood beneath snow-capped mountains.

Life quietly resumes where it left off.

Yet something felt different this time.

Over the past year, I’ve shared bits and pieces about work.

The uncertainty.

The difficult conversations.

The feeling of becoming increasingly tired.

At first, I wondered whether returning from a peaceful holiday had simply made work feel harder.

But the more I sat with that thought, the more I realised the opposite was probably true.

The trip didn’t create the unhappiness.

It simply gave me enough peace to recognise it.

When you’re constantly busy, it’s surprisingly easy to convince yourself that everything is fine.

You move from one task to another.

One deadline to the next.

One week becomes another.

There’s very little space to stop and ask yourself how you’re really doing.

Then, for two weeks, I found myself walking through vineyards.

Sitting quietly in cafés.

Watching snow fall.

Listening to strangers play the piano.

Doing… less.

Somewhere in that slower rhythm, I remembered what it felt like not to carry constant tension.

Coming home didn’t suddenly make work toxic.

It simply reminded me what peace felt like.

And once you’ve experienced that kind of peace, the noise becomes much harder to ignore.

I’m still figuring out what all of this means.

I don’t have neat answers.

I don’t know what the next chapter looks like.

Perhaps that’s okay.

For now, I think this season is simply teaching me to pay attention.

To notice what gives me life.

To notice what quietly drains it.

And maybe that’s one of the greatest gifts this honeymoon left behind.

Not just beautiful memories.

But a little more honesty with myself.