Have you ever listened to several songs at the same time? That’s kind of how my week has felt. Among my family members, I’ve heard, shared, and celebrated their achievements and new initiatives—job promotions, milestones in their children’s growth, new projects, even conversations about what to wear. As I observe and listen to each one’s rhythm, I try not to imitate or compare myself, but to tune my ear and figure out which one is truly mine.
Sometimes, out of admiration, I’ve tried to copy others. And other times, out of fear, I’ve tried to avoid them. One of the realizations I’ve had (maybe not a new one for you) is seeing how much I’ve lived by borrowed melodies that don’t really belong to me—or don’t make me feel like myself. These past three months of pause helped me see that more clearly.
In recent video calls with my mom, we’ve talked about friends, acquaintances, sports, work, my hopes for professional and personal growth, my plants, my pets. About the late spring. About the presidential elections (ugh, this time I’ll say nothing about that). About my new, very amateur cooking skills. And little by little, I’ve been observing and discovering a rhythm I can tolerate. One that brings me peace—but for some reason, that peace still feels fragile.
At another moment, I shared with my friend Maria a book that really moved me: The Gift by Edith Eger. The impact of her experience in the concentration camps and how it shaped her adult life. Maria and I have started a book exchange, and every Monday we have a short coffee session where we separate the noise of the office from personal life.
I also recently met Ștefan Muțiu and his wife Amelia. They’ve built the first private gymnastics studio in Romania. It’s an ambitious initiative that takes both vision and consistency. I had a short conversation with him about his venture and about my work in marketing. It felt like an intersection between my gymnastics years in Peru and my current professional life in Romania. I’ll be interviewing him soon—I’m excited about it.
At work, I’ve learned to make my melody more audible. Without drowning out others, I try to be transparent and intentional—with my manager, with my colleagues, with my clients.
All these encounters—family, work, casual—have shown me one common thing: we often live surrounded by borrowed melodies. We walk in someone else’s rhythm without stopping to ask whether it fits us. Sometimes we do it out of affection, sometimes out of habit, and sometimes because we’ve never allowed ourselves to use our own.
Some days, I feel like I’m walking very slowly. Like everyone else is ahead. But in that reflection, I also find a softness I never thought would matter. A softness that whispers to me that I’m not late for anything. That mine is simply a different melody—and that’s okay.
Now I think it’s no longer about discovering it, but about practicing it. Not as something I’ve memorized, but as something I’m just learning—repeating it in parts, slowing it down to understand it and refine it. Whether in my head or out loud. With myself or with others.
That’s my path these days. Rehearsals. Pauses. Rehearsals. I keep listening to myself over and over—finally convinced that I haven’t lost my melody, but that I’m learning to sound stronger.
Ave Migratoria 