What a 15-Hour Flight Taught Me About Slowing Down and Coming Back to Myself 🧐 - Edition 16 // 4.9.26

Dear curious explorer of the world ❣️

I haven’t written to you in three months.

And if I’m honest… that already tells me something.

Because usually, I write every month.
Not because I “have to,” but because it’s how I know I’m with myself—
reflecting, processing, and making sense of my life as I live it.

So the fact that I haven’t?

Means I’ve been a little off.
A little too in it.
Moving faster than I’ve been able to integrate.

And if I’m really honest…

It’s also because I filled my life to the brim.

Building. Creating. Hosting. Reaching.
Trying to grow something I deeply care about.

It all looks beautiful from the outside.
And it is.

But somewhere along the way…
I didn’t leave enough space to actually be with myself.

To feel.
To process.
To catch up with my own life.

I’m writing this to you from a plane to Beijing.

It’s a 15-hour flight.

And for the first time in months… I can’t run.

No distractions.
No doing.
No catching up.

Just me.

And I realized—this has quietly become a ritual for me.

Every time I’m on a long flight, I’m forced to pause.
To reflect.
To actually meet my life.

And somewhere between the silence and the stillness…

I started looking back at the past three months.

And as I sat there…

I started to see things I couldn’t see when I was in it.

What I’ve actually created.
What I’ve moved through.
What I’ve been carrying in my head that isn’t even real.

And I realized—

I didn’t feel overwhelmed because my life was too much.

I felt overwhelmed because I never gave myself space to actually see it.

Before getting on this flight, if I’m honest…

I wasn’t even excited.

It all just felt like things I needed to get done.
Responsibilities. Logistics. Chores.

But after pausing…

I feel completely different.

Grounded.
Clear.
Actually present to what’s ahead.

Not because anything changed on the outside—

but because I finally gave myself the space to see what’s true.

Looking back, this past quarter feels like a lifetime.

It started in Hawaii—with my family.

And being with them was… confronting.

I saw the gaps.
The comparisons.
The parts of me that still react.

But I also saw something I didn’t fully see before:

It’s okay for me to be different.

From a conventional view, maybe my life doesn’t look like I’ve “made it.”

But when I really sat with it…

I realized I’ve built a life from the ground up that I’m actually proud of.

A life that gives me freedom.
Movement between worlds.
Time with family.
And the ability to create spaces where people feel like they belong.

That matters more than fitting into someone else’s version of success.

January and February were full.

Beautiful, full, alive.

And I watched people around me step into new chapters—
babies, homes, marriages.

I didn’t rush to interpret it.

Just… noticed.

Life moving.

And then March came.

And everything slowed down in the hardest way.

Loss.
Shock.
Grief that didn’t fully land.

Two people I care about, gone—back to back.

There were moments I didn’t know how to be.

Moments that made me question my relationships.
Moments that felt incredibly lonely.

Even surrounded by people.
Even in partnership.

There are some experiences in life that no one can fully meet you in.

And I’m still learning how to be with that.

And in a way…

this is exactly what Homecoming has always been about.

Not adding more.

But creating space—
to pause,
to see clearly,
and to come back to what actually matters.

A reset.

So as I’m about to land in Beijing, stepping into this retreat I’ve been building…

I notice something has shifted.

As I was reviewing everything again on this flight,
I had this unexpected moment.

I felt… good.

Grounded.
Clear.

Which surprised me.

Because I always do this—
I tell myself I’m not ready.
That I didn’t do enough.

But after everything this season has asked me to walk through…

I think I trust myself more now.

Not because I have everything figured out—

but because I know how to come back to myself.

And I think that’s what we’re really creating here.

Not just an experience—

but a space for people to pause, reset, and meet their own life again.

Where I am right now feels like a threshold.

Between holding on and letting go.
Between exhaustion and clarity.
Between who I’ve been… and who I’m becoming.

And for the first time in a while—

I feel grounded again.

If you’ve been in a season where life is just… a lot
where you haven’t had time to pause, reflect, or even catch up with yourself—

maybe this is your moment too.

Not to figure everything out.

But just to sit.
And meet where you are.

We’re about to land.

Beijing, here we go.

I’ll write to you again from the other side.

Recap from the Past 3 Months of Grounding Pause

Over the past three months, we quietly began something new.

We launched Grounding Pause as a bite-sized grounding practice — a simple, intentional space to pause, reflect, and come back to yourself. Since then, we’ve been gathering biweekly on Saturday mornings at 9:30 AM at Carlson Park in Culver City, and it has become such a meaningful rhythm.

What started as a small offering has grown into a gentle ritual.

A space for people to step out of the rush of life, sit with what’s present, and give themselves a moment of real care. A space to journal, reflect, breathe, and simply be — together.

Over these past months, I’ve been deeply moved by everyone who chose to come out and join us in the park.

Thank you for the laughter.
Thank you for the tears.
Thank you for the honest sharing, the quiet presence, and the willingness to pause.
Thank you for choosing, even for just one morning, to take time out of your life for yourself.

There is something so powerful about gathering in such a simple way — outdoors, in community, with no need to perform or rush. Just a group of humans remembering how to slow down and listen again.

And for that, I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart.

We’ll be in China for the month of April, so Grounding Pause will take a short break and return on Saturday, May 23, at 9:30 am Carlson Park. I’m already looking forward to gathering with you again.

As I head into this retreat season, I feel especially grateful for these spaces that remind me what Homecoming is really about.

Not perfection.
Not having everything figured out.
But creating space to return to yourself — again and again.

Thank you for being part of this journey with me.

Whether you’ve joined us in the park, read these letters quietly from afar, or are simply finding your way back to yourself in your own time — I’m grateful you’re here.

With love,
Shanshan

P.S. A question for your journal:
“Where in your life are you being invited to pause — not because everything is done, but because you need to hear yourself again?”