27 April 2026
A cheerful mix of Georgian songs plays in the background, making me think this must have been what Georgia sounded like in the nineties. The marshrutka zips along winding roads between mountains, forests, and scattered neighbourhoods. Another year has passed; another birthday celebrated somewhere in a village on a mountain.
There is a huge difference between running from something and running towards something. A younger version of me may have wanted to see the world partly because I have always had a wandering spirit, but also, at least in part, because I was trying to run away from myself and everything around me. Now, however, I find myself running more and more into the fullness of who I truly am. Instead of rushing off to the next place, I am slowing down, soaking in the moments that pass too quickly.
Chiatura was an incredibly interesting adventure. I used to explore countries through books in the library when I was thirteen or fourteen. I thought I knew a lot, yet I was never drawn to former Soviet countries, apart from Russia. I had never given this part of the world much thought and knew almost nothing about Georgia or its neighbours, aside from Turkey, which had always been on my bucket list. Finding an old mining town nestled in a luminous green valley, with cable cars cutting across the sky and dystopian buildings haunting the skyline, was something I could never have imagined.
Only a short ride from Kutaisi, the marshrutka costs 10 GEL one way. It’s a scenic journey, especially now that the rains have mostly given up and the sun has returned. My birthday outing had been planned at least a month in advance, when Steve and I decided on a spontaneous road trip to explore this hidden corner of Georgia. One of the main attractions was the Katskhi Monastery — a tiny church perched atop a towering rock pillar. It is truly spectacular, although visitors are not allowed to climb up. Still, we captured some beautiful photos and even enjoyed a conversation with a few friendly cows. The soft jingling of cowbells echoed like wind chimes through the valley, making the walk back to the main road feel even more magical.
We hitchhiked into Chiatura and were immediately struck by the beauty surrounding us. Somehow, the grey buildings do not take away from the fairytale atmosphere that settles over the town. The people here also felt warmer than in other areas. We wandered up and down steep hills in search of picture worthy spots. Riding the old, bright red cable car up the mountain was easily one of the highlights. I have always loved mountains, and the view from the top felt like the final touch on an already perfect day. Snow-capped peaks sleep in the distance, while closer by, bees hummed and birds sang their new spring songs.
In moments like these, I can simply pause.
For the first time in my life, I feel completely at peace. Life has not stopped; daily worries and responsibilities have not disappeared. Nothing is perfect — and yet everything feels exactly as it should be. I don’t know where I will be this time next year, or who I will be with. I don’t know how I will get there, or whether it will be the “right” choice. I don’t know how I will save enough money, or whether I will stay or go.
But within my heartbeat, there is stillness. In my solar plexus, an unhurried acceptance. The journey that has brought me here, to this exact moment, has been nothing short of extraordinary.
I want to say that the last six years have shaped who I have become, but in truth, it has been every moment since the day I was born. Each experience has come together like a carefully placed tile in a mosaic, forming… me. The magnitude of who I am, the beauty of all that I carry, the vast ocean of memories woven into my very being — it overwhelms me.
We miss so much of it. We become consumed by small moments that feel overwhelming, rushing through life in search of answers; answers that will always only be pots of gold at the end of the rainbow… We forget that we are stardust. We forget that the “I AM” lives within us. Every breath, every moment of childlike joy and excruciating pain, every ray of sunlight and every drop of rain, every whispered “I will love you forever” and every devastating loss, every melody and every cry, every mistake and every triumph — every millisecond of existence — all of it is what we are.
We forget to truly live. We forget that we are already whole, simply because we are here.
A lifetime ago, at twenty-four, I stood with my heart shattered into a million pieces. Everything I loved was being torn away, and all my dreams seemed to fall apart with it. Life made no sense, and I was faced with a choice:
Live… or give up.
I chose to live. I chose myself. In that defining moment, I gave myself permission to become more than my pain, more than my losses.
And now, as I step into this new chapter — the forty-second — I carry a quiet, almost disorienting feeling:
That perhaps, this is where my life truly begins…
