Category: Life

Things Will Happen When They’re Meant To

Lately, I’ve been reminding myself of a phrase that feels simple but profound: “Las cosas van a salir cuando tengan que salir.”

In English, it means, “Things will happen when they’re meant to happen.”

I’ve been holding on to it like a quiet mantra — especially on the days when my to-do list feels endless. Between work responsibilities, PhD deadlines, family matters, and personal goals that always seem to move to “next week,” it’s easy to feel like I’m constantly behind. Yet, this phrase reminds me to breathe, to trust that not everything has to happen right now, and that timing — real timing — has a rhythm of its own.

We live in a culture that celebrates control, planning, and productivity. I’m someone who loves structure and progress, but I’ve also learned that not everything can be forced. There’s a point where pushing harder doesn’t help — it only drains you. Some things need time to unfold, and others simply need you to be ready for them.

Philosophically, this idea isn’t new. The Stoics spoke about focusing on what’s within our control and letting go of what isn’t. Aristotle taught about balance — what he called the Golden Mean — the virtuous midpoint between excess and deficiency. It’s the art of doing not too much, not too little, but just enough. And the ancient Greeks also had two words for time: chronos and kairos.

Chronos is the time we measure — the quantitative kind. It’s the hours, days, and deadlines that structure our lives. It’s the calendar reminders, project plans, and submission dates. Chronos is linear, logical, and necessary — it keeps us moving and helps us make progress.

But kairos is different. Kairos is qualitative. It’s not about the clock — it’s about the moment. It’s the right, opportune, or meaningful time — the moment when something feels ready, when everything aligns. Kairos can’t be scheduled; it’s sensed. It’s when an idea suddenly clicks, when healing finally begins, when clarity appears after weeks of uncertainty.

I think a lot of our stress comes from trying to live only in chronos, while life often unfolds in kairos. We measure our progress by tasks completed, but we rarely give space for the kind of progress that can’t be tracked — emotional, intellectual, or spiritual growth.

This idea has shown up in my life in many ways. During my PhD, I’ve learned that insights don’t arrive on command; they come when I’m ready to understand them. In my personal life, especially after my dad passed away, I’ve realized that grief, healing, and even joy follow their own timeline. You can’t rush them. You can only stay open to them.

So I keep reminding myself: things will happen when they’re meant to happen. Not as an excuse to procrastinate, but as a reminder to trust the process — to do my part with integrity and let life take care of the rest.

Maybe the point isn’t to control time, but to live wisely within it — to work with chronos while staying open to kairos. Because the most meaningful things rarely arrive on schedule. They arrive when we’re finally ready for them.

When Life Feels Upside Down: Lessons in Real Well-Being

When life is steady, well-being feels like a checklist: sleep enough, move your body, eat well, take your supplements.

But when everything turns upside down—when you’re grieving, overwhelmed, stretched thin—that’s when the real lessons come through.

The last few months have been some of the hardest I’ve had in a long time. I lost my grandmother. Then, a few months later, I lost my father.

I’ve been balancing multiple projects at work, in the middle of a PhD, and somehow trying to show up as a leader, a student, a sister, a daughter, a friend… all while still taking care of myself.

Here’s what I’ve learned (and am still learning) about well-being—not the Instagram version, but the quiet, raw, deeply personal kind:

1. Grief Doesn’t Ask for Permission

Grief doesn’t wait for the weekend. It shows up in between meetings and to-do lists.

In my case, both phone calls came on Mondays—one just as I was starting my workday, the other at night, while I was in the middle of a PhD class.

Even though I knew those calls could arrive at any moment, when they finally came, they still shocked me.

Nothing could have prepared me to receive them.

Grief is deeply personal; each of us experiences it in a different way.

I’ve learned to let it in, even if just for a moment—a deep breath, a memory, a tear.

I don’t push it away. I try not to judge it.

2. Self-Care Becomes Survival

Self-care has become as simple as drinking water and eating.

Sitting in silence for five minutes. Taking a few days off from work and classes. Going out for a walk.

These tiny acts have become my anchors—small reminders that I’m still here.

3. People Are the Pillars

During these months, I’ve leaned on people more than ever. Friends, family, professors, other PhD students, and coworkers have been there in many different ways.

Sometimes a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” went a long way.

Well-being isn’t a solo mission—it’s collective.

We heal in community, even if the gestures are small.

4. Permission to Pause

One powerful thing I gave myself: permission to do less.

To postpone a task. To take longer walks. To cry during a break.

To spend more time with my family and truly be present.

Sometimes I feel like I spend most of my life thinking and doing.

Now, I’m learning to take time to feel and just be.

Productivity can wait. Healing can’t.

5. It’s Okay Not to Feel “Okay”

I’ve stopped pretending everything is fine.

And strangely, that honesty made me feel more grounded.

There’s peace in truth.

And there’s strength in vulnerability.

Closing Thoughts

These months have reminded me that well-being isn’t about perfection—it’s about compassion.

It’s about creating space for all parts of life: the joy, the sorrow, the chaos, the calm.

And learning, little by little, that I can carry both.

The Strength Formula: Redefining Success from the Inside Out

What if success wasn’t about speed, hustle, or constant achievement?

What if, instead, success was a quiet, deliberate unfolding — a path walked with clarity, depth, and strength?

Over time, and through deep reflection, I’ve come to realize that success is not a singular event. It’s not a promotion, a number on a scale, or a round of applause. It’s the result of a process — an inner architecture built through daily choices, mindset, and values.

I call it: The Strength Formula.

Success = Self Awareness + Prioritization + Focus + Consistency + Patience + Slow + Curiosity + Flexibility + Courage ⇒ Strength

Each component plays a vital role — and together, they don’t just lead to success.

They become the very definition of it.

🔹 Self-Awareness

Everything begins here. Without knowing yourself — your values, limits, needs — it’s easy to chase someone else’s version of success. Self-awareness is the compass.

🔹 Prioritization

You can’t do it all, and you shouldn’t try. Prioritization is how you honor your energy, time, and vision. It’s not about saying “no” to everything — it’s about saying a resounding “yes” to what matters.

🔹 Focus

The art of being fully present. Focus turns scattered effort into meaningful progress. It’s what helps you go deep instead of wide — and deep is where growth lives.

🔹 Consistency

Not glamorous, but essential. Consistency turns sparks into fire. When you show up — especially when you don’t feel like it — you’re quietly becoming unstoppable.

🔹 Slow (Deliberate Action)

This one matters deeply to me. I separated slow from patience because slow still implies action — but it’s deliberate, thoughtful, intentional. In a world that rewards urgency, slow is a rebellion. It says: “I’m here for the long run.”

🔹 Patience (Stillness in Time)

Patience, on the other hand, is stillness. It’s the quiet strength of waiting, trusting, allowing things to unfold. It’s resting when needed. It’s knowing that some progress is invisible until it blooms.

🔹 Curiosity

Curiosity turns obstacles into questions. It keeps the journey playful. It’s the opposite of ego — curiosity is humble, open, and always willing to learn.

🔹 Flexibility

Because life will never go exactly as planned. Flexibility is how you adjust without losing your core. It’s strength in motion — like bamboo in the wind.

🔹 Courage

The glue. Courage is needed to start, to keep going, to speak up, to rest, to pivot. Without it, none of the above take root. It’s the quiet power to choose growth, even when it’s uncomfortable.

💪 Why Strength?

Because success without strength is fragile.

And strength — true, rooted, resilient strength — comes from living these values day by day. Mental strength, emotional strength, physical strength… they’re all connected.

This isn’t a formula for achieving more. It’s a formula for becoming more.

📝 Reflection

If this formula resonates with you, try asking yourself:

  • Where in this formula am I already strong?
  • Which part needs more attention right now?
  • What would happen if I lived this formula, one day at a time?

You don’t have to do it all perfectly. Just consistently. Just slowly. With curiosity, flexibility, and courage.

That’s how strength is built. That’s how success begins.

The Power of Closing Cycles: Why Endings Deserve Attention

We often celebrate beginnings—a new job, a new year, a new relationship—but we rarely give endings the attention they deserve. And yet, over the past few years, I’ve learned that how we end things can be just as important as how we start them.

I’ve become intentional about closing cycles. Not just the big ones like moving cities or leaving a job, but the small, everyday ones too—like how I end my workday, how I wrap up a conversation, or how I say goodbye after a visit to see family. Each closure is an opportunity to reflect, to honor what was, and to make space for what’s next.

Why Closing Cycles Matters

Leaving things unfinished—or worse, pretending they didn’t happen—creates mental clutter. It lingers. It takes up space in our minds and hearts, making it harder to move forward with clarity and intention. I’ve felt it in my own life: the emotional weight of half-closed chapters, the open tabs in my brain.

But when I consciously bring things to a close, something shifts. There’s peace. There’s resolution. There’s a subtle but powerful sense of integrity in saying, “This mattered. It happened. It’s complete.”

The Practice of Closure

For me, closing cycles isn’t dramatic—it’s mindful.

Sometimes it looks like writing a few lines in my journal at the end of the day, acknowledging the good and the not-so-good. Sometimes it’s sending a thank-you message after finishing a project. Other times, it’s more symbolic: taking a solo walk to process a difficult goodbye.

These simple acts help me integrate the experience, rather than rush past it.

Closing the Big Cycles

While small daily closures have their place, sometimes we need to revisit the big chapters of our lives to fully close them. Over the past year, I did something that felt deeply necessary: I returned to a few cities where I once lived—places that shaped me, challenged me, and held pieces of who I used to be.

When I first left those places, life was a whirlwind. Busy, busy, busy. Packing, deadlines, logistics. I didn’t give myself the space to say goodbye—to really walk those streets one last time, take in the views, or sit with the emotions of leaving.

Going back, this time with no rush, allowed me to close those chapters with presence. I wandered familiar neighborhoods with new eyes. I visited my favorite restaurants, took long walks, and let the memories surface. It was quiet, emotional, and healing. Those visits weren’t about nostalgia—they were about honoring who I was back then and letting go of what no longer belonged to me.

Sometimes closure isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. It’s returning, witnessing, and releasing.

Endings Are Not Failures

One of the biggest mindset shifts I’ve had is understanding that endings aren’t always sad. And they definitely aren’t failures. Letting go of a habit, a routine, or even a dream that no longer fits is an act of courage, not weakness. It’s a way of saying, “I respect myself enough to not stay stuck.”

I’ve also learned that some cycles need to close before we feel ready. And that’s okay. There’s wisdom in moving on even without a perfect sense of closure. Sometimes we find the meaning later.

What I’ve Gained

By honoring closures, I’ve gained clarity. Emotional space. Confidence. And more than anything, a sense of flow—of being able to transition from one season to the next without dragging old stories behind me.

It’s still a work in progress. But now, I no longer rush to the next thing without asking myself, “Have I closed this well?”

What cycles are still open in your life?

Maybe it’s time to give them the goodbye they deserve.

Life is Simple — We Just Make It Complicated

I’ve always believed that life, at its core, is very simple. Somewhere along the way, though, we humans began to complicate it.

Our basic needs are straightforward: food, shelter, connection, a sense of purpose. But our minds are masters at weaving stories, creating fears, and setting expectations that turn these simple needs into tangled webs. We worry about the future, regret the past, compare ourselves to others, and build towering structures of “should” and “must” that weigh heavily on our hearts.

Philosophers have noticed this pattern for centuries. The Stoics, like Marcus Aurelius, taught that it is not events themselves that disturb us, but our judgments about them. Henry David Thoreau famously wrote in Walden, “Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify, simplify!” Even in Buddhism, there is a teaching that suffering arises when we resist the simple reality of impermanence and interconnectedness.

Life invites us to live simply, but our minds often prefer complexity.

In my own life, I try to stay connected to simplicity in small but meaningful ways. I prioritize presence over perfection. I find joy in little rituals: an afternoon walk, a good conversation, a moment of stillness before a busy day. I try not to overload my schedule, and when decisions feel overwhelming, I remind myself to return to the essentials. What really matters? What brings genuine peace?

Life doesn’t have to be complicated. Often, the most beautiful moments are the simplest ones — a shared laugh, a sunset, a deep breath.

Maybe today, we can all pause for a moment and remember: Simplicity is always available to us, patiently waiting for us to choose it.