The Five-Year Vision
I imagine where I want to be in five years. I allow myself to picture a life I love.
Let yourself imagine. Five years from now. You have continued to heal — slowly, faithfully — to grow, to build. The hardest stretch of your story is firmly behind you. You have made it through. What does the life look like?
Picture the mornings. The light coming through a window. A drink in your hand, warm or cold. Whose company you are in, if anyone. The quality of the quiet. The shape of an ordinary Tuesday.
Picture the people. Who is close to you, five years from now? Whose voice do you look forward to hearing? Who knows you. Who has been in your life long enough that they have seen the new chapter become real.
Picture the work. What are you doing with your days? Is it the work you do now, deepened? Is it something new entirely? Is it less of one thing, and more of another? Is there rest woven through it that did not used to exist?
Picture the home. Where do you live? What does it smell like? Is there a corner that belongs entirely to you?
Picture how you feel in your body. Steadier. More at home in yourself. More forgiving of your own imperfections. Quieter inside.
Do not edit yet. Do not figure out how to get there. Let the picture come, and let it stay long enough to be felt. The picture is a kind of medicine. It tells your nervous system: there is somewhere good to be heading. There is a future, and you are in it.
You are allowed to want this future. You are allowed to picture it in detail. You are allowed to believe it is yours.