44: The Year of "deeper" Reflection & Recalibration

Its 2025. I turned 44 — a number that feels less like an age and more like a crossroads.

Life lately — especially over the past three years — has been full, sometimes overwhelmingly so. After two decades in the fast lane of high-tech, navigating relentless pace, shifting demands, and ever-rising expectations, I find myself facing something I can no longer ignore: not just burnout, but a deep need for change. I’ve had the ability to make choices before — but I didn’t feel the need for it like I do now. The constant multitasking, the endless juggling of priorities — what once energized me now feels heavy. For the first time in a long time, I’m not interested in keeping up at that pace. I need a break, or maybe something bigger: a real change. A reset. And it finally feels like the right time to honor that.

It’s not just the stress of work or the long hours. It’s the slow accumulation of things — the health warnings, the sleepless nights, and the hormonal changes that come with perimenopause. After nearly a decade of navigating polyps, fibroids, heavy bleeding, sprinkles of endometriosis, and the constant ups and downs they bring, the toll on my body has been impossible to ignore. And now, the questions grow louder: How do I create more peace and sanity for myself over the next 2, 5, 10 years? How do I find a better, calmer, and more sustainable rhythm as I look over the horizon and begin to peep into my 50s?

Why next 2 years? There’s a shift happening at home. My teenager is turning 16 — a milestone that feels surreal — and in just two short years, she’ll be off to college. The once-distant future suddenly feels like it’s around the corner. The reality of this transition hits me in unexpected waves: pride, excitement, and a tender sadness. The role I’ve known for so long — being her constant, her anchor — is evolving.

At 44, reflection comes more naturally than ever before. Maybe it’s the years behind me, maybe it’s the changes ahead. I find myself filled with a complicated mix of emotions: excitement about new possibilities, fear about what’s next, imposter syndrome whispering doubts — but also, a stubborn, growing sense of hope.

I’m stepping into this next chapter with a mix of nerves and excitement — ready to make changes I’ve put off for too long. It’s not about stepping away; it’s about stepping toward a life that feels more intentional, and more true to what I want to do at this point in time. It feels unsettling at times, but also energizing — like standing at the edge of something unknown and finally deciding to move forward.

I don’t have all the answers yet. But for the first time in a long time, I’m giving myself permission to ask the questions — and that feels like a beginning worth celebrating.