The moment I knew

Today is the last day of February, my dear hivers. How have you been? February, to me, felt like a breaking point disguised as an ordinary month.

The first half was swallowed entirely by corporate life. I’m an accountant by day, someone whose job consolidates, analyze numbers, and provide monthly financial reports. Don't get me wrong, while I genuinely enjoy tracing patterns, and reading stories hidden in financial statements, the past few months weren't easy. Deadlines grew tighter than ever. I found myself working late nights more often, chasing deadlines like I'm being chased by dogs, anxious to missed a submission. It became a quiet pressure I carried everywhere — even to bed.

One night at 3 a.m., while finishing a report under fluorescent light and exhaustion, something shifted in me. The question of purpose and aspiration surfaced. I couldn't even give myself a decent answer to my question. I’m passionate about finance, but I resent the pace that’s draining me.

Last week was our company awards night. I watched colleagues walk across the stage — elegant, accomplished, proud. Everyone applauded. But standing there in the audience, I felt nothing. Not envy. Not aspiration. In fact, I felt resistance. I dont want to be up there. That realization unsettled me more than the deadlines ever did.

That's the moment I knew I'm leaving.

The next day, I went to the temple. The stillness wrapped around me like a reset button. In the silence, I heard my own calm inner voice — the one I’ve been ignoring. That day, I finally decide to listen.

I haven’t officially filed my resignation. But I cut my hair short to seal a promise: to honor myself enough to leave what's no longer serving purpose. Growth sometimes begins with a change in direction.

Love, Jane