I went on a four-day holiday. From Sunday afternoon until Thursday afternoon, travel time included. Just 4 days. On the way back, I thought about writing one of those LinkedIn posts.

“I spent four days slowing down. Here are the eight life changing lessons I learned”

I spent the whole flight trying to type it out on my phone, but... nothing came up.

It just wouldn’t happen. Maybe I actually slowed down this time?

Nah... I’m still exhausting myself trying to optimise my life. I found myself running at the crack of dawn in 40-degree heat on a tiny village road. And then something funny happened.

An old village lady looked at me, laughed, and asked,

“ Who is chasing you girl?!” (Obviously she said it with an incredibly thick Aegean accent, but you’ll have to settle for the Hollywood translation of mine.)

I was about to reply, “You know... exercise... healthy lifestyle...”

But then I stopped.

Actually...

Who’s chasing me?

Am I completely insane for doing it?

The woman standing in front of me is probably eighty years old.

She got up this morning to look after her cow.

She’s laughing her head off at me.

Just because I spent my thirties sitting behind a laptop trying to make other people happy... do I really need to lecture her about longevity or wellness?

Honestly...

She seems to have lived a pretty long life already. And she looks perfectly healthy.

So I laugh too.

But I can’t stop thinking.

What kind of eighty-year-old will I become?

Could slowing down really be possible for me? Could I have a day without worrying about not being any better today? Is it possible to spend the days without producing?

I think that sentence alone tells you how I feel about “doing nothing.”

When I got back to my room, I caught myself wondering: When was the last time I genuinely stopped? And also, what am I actually chasing?

Even on this holiday, I still felt guilty for not bringing my laptop. As if I had some incredibly important work waiting for me. (To be completely honest... I don’t currently even have a job that’s paying my bills.)

Instead of enjoying the cheesy pink romance novel I packed, I’m busy feeling guilty that I am not reading 12 Steps to a More Successful Career on my Kindle instead.

And yet... I’m enjoying myself.

I’m enjoying reading something completely pointless.

I’m enjoying swimming in a tiny sleepy seaside town and lying on a sunbed doing absolutely nothing.

I’m enjoying not spending every evening wondering where the best restaurant is.

The village beach is beautiful. Without any beach clubs. No loud music.

You won’t find much alcohol beyond house wine, beer and basic spirits.

But there is the village grocery shop. The owner is loud, hilarious, knows absolutely everyone, and somehow stocks every drink imaginable. Buy it there and make your own cocktails at home.

If your first thought was, “I’ll just order it online,” unfortunately... delivery doesn’t come to this village.

There aren’t any fancy coffee shops either.

If you want coffee... You drink Nescafe.

When you’re lying on the beach, almost everyone is older than you. It’s basically grandparents and retirees. (I’m automatically assuming you’re somewhere around my age, fellow millennial.)

Nobody is watching TikToks. Nobody is scrolling through Reels.

Nobody is taking selfies. They’re playing backgammon. Reading books and using their sketchbooks. Or sleeping in the shade.

Lazy people.

Seriously.

So lazy.

And then I realised something.

Maybe the reason I feel so good is that there’s nobody around to judge me for sitting around doing absolutely nothing.

Literally everyone I know dreams of moving to a little town on the Aegean or Mediterranean coast one day.

This holiday gave me a tiny glimpse of it. Slow living, Mediterranean lifestyle an so on.

But I couldn’t help wondering...

How are we supposed to pull that off?

We’re the generation that hunts down the same aesthetic cafés wherever we travel.

Orders the same drinks.

Lives inside corporate calendars.

Optimises every waking minute.

If this peaceful retirement is what we all dream about... Will we actually be able to live like this when we’re old? Will I ever become like that cheerful lady laughing at me for running?

Since the last 4 days, the person sitting opposite me isn’t talking about cortisol peaks. Or dopamine chasing. Or becoming our best selves. Or how to achieve the best?

Or optimising our lives. As an old city woman, she genuinely loves living in the village.

She tells me she doesn’t miss the busy life she had before. I find myself thinking,

How busy could it really have been? Fifteen years ago you were a businessperson in Istanbul.

Life was much simpler back then. Still... I’m not convinced.

Meanwhile I’m secretly thinking,

“I definitely ate too much bread. Diet starts again as soon as I’m back.”

And then...

“Tomorrow morning I should actually swim instead of just floating. Floating won’t burn enough calories.”

Even here...

I’m still optimising.

At eleven o’clock that night, the neighbour suddenly drops by.

She couldn’t sleep.

Her favourite rooster is sick.

She comes in, has a cup of tea, laughs, chats for a while...

...and leaves.

And I find myself feeling strangely happy.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

Being surrounded by people who’ve genuinely slowed down (or were always slow) is helping me slow down too.

Anyway.

I still haven’t managed to extract some grand life lesson from all this.

But I think retirement might simply mean...

Having time.

Living somewhere quiet.

Spending your days with nature and with yourself.

Or something like that.

Then again...

The people retiring today didn’t grow up the way my generation did.

Maybe I need to stop optimising my future expectations as well.

But there is one thought I can’t shake.

All the damage we do to ourselves while working for “someday”...

Will it actually be enough to make us happy when we’re eighty?

I don’t know.

Anyway...

I’d better write a Substack about this.

At least then I’ll have produced something of this holiday.

Just a random person walking down the aisle of a plane with a carry-on bag. What could I possibly be thinking about?

Those new credit card adverts on the aisles look brilliant. I wonder if I should get one. Premium. Black. Wow.

But then I wonder how much the annual fee is. My current American Express fee is about £250, and when they charged me last month, it hurt.

Also, why do I even pay an annual fee?

Ah, right. Because those premium cards give you access to premium airport lounges. PREMIUM ACCESSIBILITY!

Which one is more important? Lounge access or having an extra £250 in your wallet?

But then again, what would £250 even change in this economy? It’s basically just a summer flight to Europe (ofc only a carry-on bag). By the time I get to the airport and buy an overpriced coffee, I’m already in debt again.

So maybe there’s no point in saving that card fee. At least I’d have lounge access.

Except… I can’t even travel that easily.

Hmm. The man sitting in 1A looks like he has a powerful passport. He probably travels wherever he wants without thinking twice. Would he ever understand what it’s like for someone without a strong passport to apply for visas, collect endless paperwork, wait for appointments, and hope a stranger stamps their passport with approval?

Speaking of visas…

I’m upset that so many of my friend (including me, because I am also someone’s friend) constantly have visa issues with consulates. We aren’t really free at all. So what’s the point of buying a premium credit card? It feels like paying for a luxury I can’t fully use.

Finally, I’m at my seat.

Oh my God.

Who is farting?

Someone farts every five minutes.

And why is there a discount code for a diamond on my seat? Who buys a diamond thanks to that advert? I wonder what the conversion rate is for these adverts.

Well… they kept me thinking about them, so I suppose that’s the whole point.

Speaking of thinking…

Why am I thinking about them? By “them,” I mean the adverts.

I shouldn’t be thinking about them.

I’m smart. I’m strong.

Hmm.

Maybe I’m not that strong.

I get hurt so easily. Not physically, mentally.

Or maybe I don’t get hurt easily. Maybe people are just harsh.

I’ve moved through life quite strongly. I’ve done the self-help books. I’ve done therapy. (As if that journey ever really ends.) So I don’t think I’m unusually fragile.

I just think people aren’t thoughtful enough. People are weird. But I am weird too, because I am also a human.

Is it really that hard to understand me?

I don’t think so.

I’m actually very simple.

I get excited by genuine emotional connection. I don’t like vague feelings wrapped in fake words.

I just need people to be real.

…

Oh my God.

This fart is more real than most people I know.

Is this person ever going to stop?

Is it a bad stomach, or is this some sort of hobby?

Are they even aware of how bad it is?

I don’t think so.

Should I write a Substack article about this?

I think yes.

Maybe I’ll call it:

What Am I Thinking While You’re Farting?

Actually…

That’s a pretty good headline.

Or maybe I should change it.

Anyway.

Boarding is complete, my darlingos.

I managed to sit here without speaking to a single real human.

I’ve never been the kind of person who talks about her achievements. It has always felt a bit... awkward. But if there’s one thing I can say with confidence, it’s that I’ve spent years building things. Sometimes businesses, sometimes projects, often ideas, but mostly, myself. Building myself is the best investment I have learned.

I know what it’s like to grow up carrying beliefs, fears, and habits that don’t really belong to you. To realise that some of the things you ^{accepted as “just who I am” were actually things you inherited}. And I know how much work it takes to keep the parts of your roots you love while letting go of the ones that keep you small.

I’m still doing that work.

I don’t think it ever really ends.

But I know I’m happier than I was a few years ago. Freer, too. More comfortable being myself instead of the version of me I thought other people wanted.

If anything I write helps someone else question an old belief, make a brave decision, or simply feel a little less alone while they’re trying to change the direction of their own life, then hitting “publish” will have been worth the discomfort.

Where I Started

^{(I am writing everything as you care. So please be kind and do.)}

I grew up in Istanbul.

No one in my immediate family had a university degree. My parents divorced when I was young. We were a middle-class family, and most of my extended family still lived in small towns and villages. Once the school holidays began, I would head to my grandmother's village to spend the summer. Then, when my father took his annual leave, we'd pack our bags and go on beach holidays. This style went on until I was 14.

There was nothing wrong with that life. _{(So many things were wrong, but it’s not today’s issue)}

But there also wasn’t anyone I could point to and think, I want to become like them. I always struggled to fit in.

When it came time to choose a university, I didn’t have a grand plan. I picked one because it was close to home and had an amazing Bosphorus view.

That was my grand strategy: nod politely and watch the ferries go by whenever another lecture began.

Then Something Changed

At some point, I became hungrier for real lectures, any more information about life, about the globe, and I also became restless.

Not unhappy. Just deeply bored.

I realised I had been following a path that had been designed for me rather than by me. Left untouched, it would probably have led to marrying young, settling down early, and living a life I had never consciously chosen.

That frightened me more than uncertainty ever could.

So I started making different decisions.

I became curious. About people who lived differently, opportunities I had never considered, and lives that looked nothing like the one I had grown up with. Looking back, that curiosity was the real turning point. Because before you can change anything, you first have to realise there’s another way to live. Awareness comes first. Acceptance and change come after.

Step One: Leave

The first decision was moving out of my family home.

For many people this sounds ordinary. For many Turkish families, it isn’t. You stay with your parents until marriage. It’s financially sensible, culturally expected, and rarely questioned.

But my home wasn’t a place where I could become the person I wanted to be.

My mother and I were simply too different. The environment wasn’t helping either of us.

People often talk about leaving your comfort zone.

Mine wasn’t comfortable.

And that’s an advantage people rarely acknowledge.

When your current situation already feels restrictive, you have less to lose by walking away.

Step Two: Earn Your Independence

Freedom isn’t free. Being free is the hardest thing in 2026. And all of us already accepted that there is no free will, right? Anyway, straight back to the point.

If you want independence, you need income.

There wasn’t family money waiting for me. So I worked.

I started working while I was still in high school (nothing dramatic, just being a waiter or tutoring math to neighbours’ small children). I kept working the same way through university.

The degree I graduated with eventually disappeared altogether, which meant I had to prove my value through experience instead of credentials.

So I built a career.

To this day, I’m not entirely sure how.

I knew absolutely nothing about corporate life. I didn’t have a career plan or a five-year strategy. My first piece of career logic was surprisingly simple: I wanted a company car. In my head, people in sales got company cars, so I figured I should probably work in sales.

Somehow, it worked.

I spent years driving company cars, got paid well, and along the way discovered I was actually good at building relationships, solving problems, and growing businesses. What started as a very practical goal turned into a career I genuinely enjoy.

It wasn't because I was passionate about corporate life. It was because, over the years, I’d become aware (A-WA-RE-NESS again, my darlings) of something much more important: financial independence gives you choices.

And choices change everything.

Step Three: Build Boundaries

This was the hardest lesson.

In my culture, boundaries can feel almost offensive.

Family is deeply involved in your decisions. People put food in your mouth even when you are 45. They ask you the most intimate questions on a whim, or they criticise you for everything. (I hope those things are not only speciacific for me and you all know what I am talking about) Expectations aren’t always spoken, but they’re always there.

If you’re trying to change your circumstances, you eventually realise that changing your environment isn’t enough.

You also have to change your relationship with the people around you.

That started with very small “no”s. Below are a couple of easy sentences that could change your life:

_{No, I don’t want that.}

_{No, I’m not available.}

_{No, I don’t like that.}

_{No, I don’t agree with you.}

_{No, this is my decision.}

_{No, thank you.}

Every boundary felt uncomfortable. I know. It’s the hardest part because you actually don’t dislike those humans. You just don’t like what they have to offer to you.

But yes, every boundary also made me more myself.

Step Four: Change Your Environment

Some of you can think step five and step one are the same. And maybe you’re right. But just adding an extra sentence made me feel better. So here we are.

If you want a different life, you eventually need different inputs.

For me, that meant moving outside of the country.

But, sometimes it’s another city. Sometimes it’s a new flat.

Sometimes it’s another country.

Sometimes it’s simply spending more time with people whose lives make your own possibilities feel bigger.

Your environment quietly shapes your standards.

You begin to normalise whatever surrounds you.

If everyone around you believes a certain life is impossible, eventually you believe it too.

What Living Against Your Roots Actually Means?

People often assume living against your roots means rejecting where you came from. Being distant to your parents, ignoring the people you grew up with or completely transforming your whole identity to a selfish bh-bhit-ch.

I don’t think that’s true.

I still love my family.

I still love Turkey.

I still carry my culture with me every day.

Living against your roots isn’t about rejecting your past.

It’s about refusing to let your past become your ceiling. It’s about being aware of what was wrong, and just putting a tiny little effort to change things.

You can honour where you came from without allowing it to define where you end up.

I’m still learning how to do that.

Maybe I always will.

It wasn’t always like this.

Until age 29, I had a simple, steady life. I was entirely focused on my career because there was nothing else to focus on. I had a traumatic childhood (the kind that makes you cry), a very normal education, and a huge, avoidant, cold-hearted, bitchy personality. But something shifted in March 2022, and since then, everything has been different.

The Day Everything Changed

One day, I decided to stop blaming the men in my life and went to therapy instead.

I walked into that room wearing red lipstick, a mini skirt, and a top—I’d put on my best look. I sat down and said, “I don’t know why I’m here, but I am.”

For every Saturday since, I’ve been in that same room for 3 years.

What I’ve Learned About Being an Adult

Right now, I’m an adult. A real one. And I realise new things every day. I used to think I needed to be funny to be loved, that I had to perform all the time. But when I turned 30, I realised life isn’t always funny, and I don’t need to be funny to matter.

Here’s what being a real adult actually means:

Yesterday, I decided to write in my journal. I grabbed my notebook, sat at my table, and realised I had no pen. I stood up, found one, sat back down, and started writing. Then the doorbell rang—a delivery. I answered it, came back to the table, kept writing. Then the washing machine started to leak.

I sat by the toilet for 35 minutes, watching the machine and the laundry, because that machine needed my attention. If my flat sank, I’d have nothing. I put a plate under the leaky cable, waited for the cycle to finish. Then I came back to my table and wrote my story.

This is life: You plan to write a journal, and life happens. You come back to that table. Again and again.

This is what prioritisation looks like. This is what adulting actually is—not the Instagram version, but the real kind. The kind where you make sure your house doesn’t sink while you’re also trying to chase your dreams. The kind where you show up to the work that matters, even when interrupted.

The kind where you keep moving.