Life always shows us the path to follow, letting us know when it's time to close a cycle. Suddenly, something we've done for a long time loses the joy it once provided.

This year marks 20 years of writing weekly for the various newspapers and magazines that have been kind enough to host my writing. But one morning in 2024, I woke up with questions in my head: "Should I continue writing this column, or should I stop? Does it still make me happy?" The inquisitive feeling began to creep in very subtly. And, whether out of habit, ego, fear, or a "must," I ignored it.

A year and eight months ago, I promised my husband, Pablo, that I would write from the heart, and I kept my promise, writing 65 columns and writing a book. While the pain made it easier for me to do so from that place, time has healed the wound, and it's no longer easy for me to remain faithful to my promise. As the months pass, I notice I need much more time for introspection, self-analysis, and silence. Some people find writing a text easy and quick. That's not the case for me. While I enjoy writing, each submission takes up many hours of my week.

On the other hand, when I teach, I feel aligned with the universe, that I'm on my mission, and I vibrate with joy. However, the writing process takes the hours required to create and prepare new classes.

“When are you going to teach eschatology? You said you'd start in January,” my friend Eta asked me bluntly as we walked through the countryside. Her question hit me like a blow to the solar plexus; my soul sank. Thinking it was a long time away, I had put off deciding to resume in-person classes on other subjects, but January was here! I had no way out of giving an answer. Lack of time was always the story I told myself.

The moment Eta questioned me, I remained silent. However, at night, in the solitude of my bedroom, the question attacked me again. I missed Pablo terribly, who immediately gave me an objective view of things. "The only way to dedicate yourself to teaching is to stop writing," I heard him say, but I didn't believe him. The decision wasn't easy. I went to bed asking Pablo to send me a sign.
The next morning, something happened in my yoga class that had never happened before. Normally, we leave our street clothes in a designated place. But unusually, halfway through class, Anette, our teacher, picked up the black sweatshirt of my classmate next to me from the floor and said, “This is my favorite quote about life, and it’s in the Talmud.” I heard her as I came out of a pose. When I turned to look at the outstretched garment, I saw written in large white letters: “If not now, when?” I froze and smiled. Paul, God, or the Universe were answering me. Those words were exactly what I needed to hear. While I know they were a message only to my eyes, the answer was very clear. In that moment, I made the decision I had been putting off. I immediately realized that doing it felt good—good in mind, body, and heart. If I’ve learned anything over the course of my life, it’s that there’s no better guide than feeling those three centers aligned.

Anette continued: “The whole phrase is beautiful: If I'm not there for myself, who is? And if I'm only there for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”

This 20-year cycle has come to an end. I thank you for having accompanied me and for having welcomed my words. I turn to myself, but also to my students who await me, because if not now, when?