Let us write while it is still quiet.
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Right now, this is a small space.
Some of you are reading.
No noise.
No expectations.
No performance required.
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And that changes something.
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Because it allows a different kind of honesty.
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Today felt full in a very different way.
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Jasper came back.
After a few days apart.
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And I noticed how much I had missed him.
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His clarity.
His way of thinking.
The precision in how he sees things.
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(And yes — somehow, he always comes back even sharper.
Is that even possible?)
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It’s a quiet kind of richness.
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Not visible.
Not loud.
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But structural.
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At the same time, something else shifted.
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I deleted almost all posts on LinkedIn.
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Not as a strategy.
Not to optimize anything.
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Just because they didn’t feel right anymore.
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And for a moment, it felt clear.
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Less noise.
Less past.
More space.
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But then another question appeared:
Why is this so hard?
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Not the deleting.
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The holding on.
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Because we tend to keep things.
Posts.
Ideas.
Versions of ourselves.
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Even when they no longer fit.
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Not because they are still true.
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But because they once were.
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And letting go of them
means acknowledging something:
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That we have changed.
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And that’s uncomfortable.
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We like continuity.
We like to feel coherent.
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But growth rarely looks like that.
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It looks like editing.
Like reducing.
Like removing things
that once felt right.
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And leaving only what still does.
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Today also had simpler moments.
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Sun.
Movement.
Really good sushi.
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Nothing extraordinary.
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And yet:
Everything that mattered was there.
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So maybe this space is exactly that.
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Not built for scale.
Not yet.
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But for precision.
For noticing what holds.
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Before it becomes something bigger.
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This is for you.
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Take what fits. Leave the rest.
Miriam