Still Here. Still Getting Free.

Notes from a full season.

I owe you a real check-in.

The last post went up on October 19.
And then, I went quiet.

Not because life emptied out.
Because it filled up.

In the way life does when you’re actually living it. Moving, working, traveling, laughing, eating, adjusting, feeling, trying to keep up with yourself.

I didn’t disappear because I had nothing to say.
I went quiet because I was inside the story.

Still here. Breathing. Letting the season hold me.

But there’s another layer I want to name, because it matters.

I had told myself I would write here every week.
And when I didn’t,  I felt like I’d let you down.

That feeling sat heavier than I expected. Instead of easing back in, I started waiting for the right way to return. The perfect tone. The clean re-entry. The post that would explain everything and make up for the gap.

And the longer I waited to get it right, the harder it felt to get started at all.

Funny how that works.

That’s the part we don’t talk about enough. How pressure, even self-imposed pressure, can turn something loving into something heavy. How disappointment can quietly turn into avoidance. How perfectionism disguises itself as care.

So let me say this plainly:

If life has been happening faster than you’ve had time to make sense of it, you’re not behind.

You’re just in it.

Since October, I’ve been moving. Across cities, across time zones, across emotional gears. Working. Building. Coming home. Leaving again. Enjoying myself. Letting myself enjoy myself. Eating well. Laughing hard. Feeling the contrast in my body when I returned to the States. I’ve gained a little weight, lost track of weeks, and felt that familiar mix of gratitude and exhaustion that shows up when life is full.

If I’m honest, I imagine some of you are right there too.

Tired. Overstimulated. Grateful for the break. Glad to be with your people. Carrying the weight of the world and trying to enjoy the holidays anyway.

And through all of that, I kept thinking about this space. About you. About how this isn’t a content calendar, it’s a relationship.

So let me name the season I’m in.

I’m wintering.

Winter didn’t arrive loudly. It just showed up and asked me to slow down.

A friend and colleague introduced me to the idea of wintering a few years ago, the notion that life has natural seasons of slowing, pulling inward, conserving energy. I didn’t have language for it then, but my body recognized it immediately.

And honestly?
It reminds me of Game of Thrones.

For years they said, Winter is coming.
Not as a threat.  Simply as a truth.

Some people ignored it. Some mocked it. Some stayed busy building, conquering, accumulating, assuming there would always be more time, more warmth, more daylight. But winter didn’t care about denial. It arrived anyway. Quiet at first, then undeniable.

And winter wasn’t just destruction.
It was instruction.

It stripped illusions. Exposed what wasn’t built to last. Forced people to slow down, take stock, gather differently, decide what and who  was worth protecting. The Night King wasn’t just an enemy; he was a reckoning. A reminder that you can’t outrun seasons you refuse to respect.

This winter in my life isn’t dramatic or dire.
It’s gentler than that.

But it’s just as honest.

It’s asking me to stop pretending that constant motion is the same as growth. To stop forcing productivity where rest is the wiser teacher. To let the season shape me instead of fighting it.

Winter isn’t coming for me.
Winter is here and she’s teaching.

In the natural world, nothing pushes at full speed year-round. Trees pull energy underground. Animals retreat. The pace changes because it has to. Strength is conserved quietly before anything blooms again.

Humans aren’t exempt from that rhythm. We’ve just been taught to fight it.

Wintering, for me, looks like fewer outward moves and more internal listening. Letting things settle instead of rushing to narrate them. Being gentler with my body. Being honest about what I’m holding and what I’m ready to release later.

It also looks like laughing at myself.

Somewhere between building, resting, and almost missing the flight.

Like almost missing a flight because I was fully convinced it left on Wednesday night when it was Tuesday.
Like building an app on an iPad because I refused to buy a laptop in Portugal and refused to learn a European keyboard.
Like realizing I can still be surprised by life  and by people  when I leave a little room for it.

So let me say this clearly, to you and to myself:

Freedom Found Her isn’t paused.
It’s just moving at the pace of my actual life.

I’m not disappearing. I’m living.
And I’m letting this space move with me.  Not under pressure, not out of guilt, not performing consistency for consistency’s sake.

As we move into the holidays, I want to offer this not as advice, just as truth:

If this season feels heavy, loud, or complicated, you don’t have to fix it.
You don’t have to explain why you’re tired.

You’re allowed to enjoy what’s good as it is.
You’re allowed to rest without turning it into a reward.
And you’re allowed to let enough be enough.

In the weeks ahead, I’ll be sharing from right here. Reflections on travel, building while living, coming home different, wintering in real time, and what fullness teaches when you stop rushing past it.

If you’ve been here, thank you for staying.
If you’re new,  welcome. You didn’t miss anything.

We’re still here.
Still getting free.

With love,
JW

Pause:
What season are you in right now?

Drop a word. A phrase.
Or just say, “I felt this.”

No essays required. We’re tired.