Sometimes peace comes not from finding new answers, but from finally losing interest in old questions. Sometimes the real growth is when you stop needing to know everything, especially about the past.
Today started like any ordinary Monday. No grand plans, no emotional agenda. Just a random choice to eat lunch at Se’i Lamalera because it was conveniently on the way to the toll gate. But that’s how life works, right? The random ones often turn out better than the perfectly planned ones. The food was surprisingly delicious, the bill unexpectedly kind (120k for two, and we even got takeout). That alone was enough to put me in a good mood.
Then we discovered a coffee shop next door called Portakamp. It was aesthetic, cozy, and even had board games. I immediately thought of my daughter who had been asking for Monopoly. Maybe next time we’ll just play here. Simple joy, stored for another day.
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| I'm wearing this dress + this outer + this glasses. |
We hit the road after that, driving to my in-laws’ place to pick up my eldest who had been staying there for over a week. She looked thrilled, like she’d just finished an archaeological expedition. Apparently, she had spent the past few days exploring her dad’s old bedroom and found treasures from another era, including (brace yourself) his old diary and love letters. Yep, from his ex.
When she told me that, I laughed. The younger me (the curious, slightly insecure version) would’ve probably asked to read them. You know, just to “understand the full story” (classic INFJ excuse). But now? I couldn’t care less.
Because here’s the truth I’ve learned: not every curiosity deserves to be satisfied.
Once upon a time, I thought closure meant knowing everything: why something happened, what someone really felt, what could’ve been. But the older I get, the more I realize that closure doesn’t come from information. It comes from peace. And peace comes from letting the past stay where it belongs: past tense.
We all have that temptation to peek back, don’t we? Whether it’s scrolling through an ex’s Instagram, rereading old messages, or just mentally replaying a chapter that’s already finished. Psychologists call it rumination: the tendency to overthink or dwell on something that’s already happened. According to research from the University of Michigan, rumination is one of the biggest predictors of anxiety and depression, especially among women. It tricks you into thinking you’re processing, when you’re actually just reliving.
And that’s exactly why I smiled and said, “Let it stay there.” Because digging into old love letters (literal or metaphorical) rarely gives you something new. It only reopens what’s already healed.
As Elizabeth Gilbert once wrote in Big Magic, “You are not required to save the world with your creativity. You are only required to share whatever little bit of truth you’ve found.” I think the same applies to our emotional lives. We’re not required to keep re-analyzing the past to prove we’ve learned something. We just need to live differently now. That’s how wisdom quietly announces itself.
The rest of my day was unremarkable in the most comforting way. My husband had a long online meeting, I fell asleep in the car, and woke up already home. I bought hair dye at Lawson, and my daughter helped color my hair on the balcony. There’s something beautiful about these small, ordinary moments: salon-free bonding, warteg food, laughter over trivial things.
But later that night, I made the mistake of watching a movie called Goodbye Farewell. Two hours I’ll never get back. The kind of film that tries to be deep but ends up just… exhausting. Too much chaos, too little redemption. Everyone smoking, drinking, crying, spiraling. It was like watching people set fire to their own lives in slow motion. And somehow, I still watched till the end. Classic move: hoping the ending will redeem everything. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. At all.
Still, maybe there’s a small lesson there too. Just like bad movies, some memories and people don’t deserve rewatches. We keep thinking, maybe this time I’ll see it differently. But no. Sometimes, it’s just bad. And that’s okay.
So here’s my little Monday wisdom:
You don’t need to reopen old chapters to confirm that you’ve grown. The fact that you’re no longer curious, that’s the proof. The fact that you’d rather dye your hair on a balcony, eat warteg veggies, and laugh with your kids than read someone’s romantic past, that’s healing.
Maybe maturity isn’t about knowing more. Maybe it’s about needing less. Less explanation. Less validation. Less digging.
In one of my favorite books, The Light We Carry, Michelle Obama said, “You can’t make decisions based on fear and the possibility of what might happen.” I think the same goes for the past. You can’t keep making emotional decisions based on what already happened, either.
At some point, you just decide to live. You stop reading the old diary, and start writing new pages, literally or figuratively.
So if you ever find yourself tempted to dig up something that’s better left buried, remember this: you don’t need to find meaning in every memory. You just need to honor how far you’ve come since then.
And if you’ve ever looked at someone you love, knowing they once loved someone else, and still felt peace.... Congratulations! 💃 That’s not indifference. That’s freedom.
Now go on. Make your own new stories. Eat something delicious, play Monopoly, dye your hair, take a nap mid-journey. Let the ghosts of your past stay in their old letters.
You’ve got a beautiful present to live in.
Monday, October 6, 2025
Nuniek Tirta Sari