Breath&Bone

I want to write a blog. No—I've been told to write a blog by someone I hold very dear to my heart, and unfortunately or fortunately, I cannot say no to them. How this person knew that I like writing absolutely random things, I do not understand.

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As I write, Grammarly keeps telling me that none of my sentences are in proper grammar, and it’s making me annoyed. Do we really need the kind of help we get in today’s world just to be? It feels like the conspiracy is to disable us from thinking or doing anything for ourselves at all.

Speaking of getting “help,” has anyone been low-key obsessed with ChatGPT? I think I want to be honest and share some of the things I have “spoken” to ChatGPT about. Some interesting topics include:

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• “Can you give me breakfast options that take less than 10 minutes to make?”

• “What is my 2025 horoscope?”

• “I am bored.”

• “Multiple workout plans?”

• “How do I make running a hobby?”

• “Is my cat bored?”

• “Is this a good poem?”

• “Kokum juice for acidity.”

• “Collagen supplement benefits explained.”

    A simple “How’s it going?” has also been there. Why would I write this? With what intention? It’s worrying.
 

Here are some of the truly heart-wrenching ones:

• “Help for migraine.”

• “Help for migraine and acidity.”

• “Help for acidity.”

• “Can I eat kadhi if I have a migraine?”

• “Can I drink chai with acidity?”

• “Meals for acidity.”

• “Cold compression or hot for migraine?”

• “Black tea and gas.”
   

At this point, ChatGPT is my official physician. Honestly, the number of times I have thought to myself that I might have a serious illness that I should get checked rather than relying on ChatGPT has been alarmingly low. But I have noticed that my need to engage with it is higher when I’m dealing with a bout of anxiety than when I’m not. And my research only tells me that this could make it worse. Even ChatGPT tells me this. And I have to trust my good friend, Mr. C GPT.

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Shifting into a new house, with bright, beautiful, big French windows all around me and sunlight always pouring in, has brought a fresh perspective and relief to my anxiety-driven system. It is calm here, and life somehow feels slower. I’m still figuring out why. My wildest guess is that I am on the 11th floor now, and I feel so disconnected from the world that I might not be stepping out as much. In a few hours, it will be 48 hours since I last stepped out. And I feel so happy.

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But I do plan on making full use of this time. I plan on becoming a slow, let’s-breathe-more-often kind of girlie. Cooking more, sitting by the window more, practicing my craft more, doing absolutely nothing more. And it all started today when I took an afternoon nap without guilt—well, some guilt—but I did it because my body demanded it.

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One of the most important things I want to incorporate into my life this year, with my new home and room, is to own less stuff. Be minimal. Less stuff for me, more stuff for the cat. Have you ever noticed how your nervous system feels in a clean, organized room with less clutter? It feels great. It feels easier to breathe and think. And the naps are so much better.

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My whole life is slowly edging towards building a life centered around being slow, conscious, and intentional. Living in “survival mode” (at this point, Instagram has already explained what this means) has made it hard to enjoy the simple things. And by enjoying them, I mean truly enjoying them—truly feeling joy in the first sip of your coffee in the morning.

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When I say the words “truly feeling joy,” it makes me think of one thing. Is finding joy an act of repetition and rebellion?

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This idea of enjoying small moments, of slowing down, has been ingrained in me for some time now. But no matter how many times I tried, I could never truly feel it—until one day, I did. And now that I do, it has given me the motivation to keep going.

Which begs another question—Is this the “enjoy the process, not the result” they talk about?

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I am beginning to understand, I think, what they mean when they say happiness is a choice—a thing to find, a thing to want, a thing to explore, just like anything else in life. And once we find it, we must generate more of it—for ourselves and for others. And so it goes…

Or maybe, just maybe, hitting close to 30 is what this is all about.

Will someone inform me, please, if it is?