2025: What Remains

2025 was not a year that can be easily summarized.

Not a year for lists, achievements, or pretty headlines.

It was a year of movement – outward and inward.

And much of it was uncomfortable.

We set off, not as an escape, but as a response to the changes around us.

Everything that felt fixed was sold. Everything truly important was taken along.

The rest was allowed to go – some voluntarily, some harder than expected.

Being on the road often feels like freedom. And yes, it is.

Not as a grand promise, but in the everyday moments.

We don’t doubt our decision – quite the opposite.

So far, it feels right. Very right.

Of course, there are questions.

Questions that arise when you live something new, instead of just talking about it.

And we trust they will find their place.

2025 has shown me that gratitude doesn’t have to be easy.

I am grateful for days that were challenging.

For decisions that first felt wrong and later proved right.

For moments where nothing was planned – and yet everything was there.

Grateful for life in a small space.

For conversations you cannot avoid.

For closeness that can challenge, but is honest.

Vanlife is no escape – it is a mirror.

I am grateful for the people who have stayed,

even as my life has changed.

For family who doesn’t understand everything, but is there anyway.

For shared coffees, walks, evenings without a program.

For the feeling that connection is not tied to a place.

Some friendships felt quieter this year.

Not worse – just different.

The world of others keeps turning while you are moving.

Learning to accept that wasn’t always easy.

But for that too, I am grateful.

For the honesty it brought. For letting go without drama.

2025 was also a year of uncertainty.

No clear plan. No fixed destination.

Just the next place. The next step.

And the realization that control is overrated.

I am grateful for all that didn’t work out.

For doubts that slowed me down.

For exhaustion that showed me limits.

For fear that didn’t paralyze, but kept me awake.

Gratitude does not mean making everything beautiful.

It means looking, seeing.

Recognizing what remains when much is let go.

And above all, what remains is this:

The trust that this path – unfinished as it feels – is mine.

That less possession does not mean less life.

That closeness does not have to be loud.

That home is not a place, but a feeling you carry.

I don’t look toward 2026 with big resolutions.

I take 2025 with me.

As experience. As memory. As quiet foundation.

And for that, I am grateful.

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