Heathrow. Sleep. Surrender.

I got on the flight at Heathrow.
Fell asleep.
Woke up… at Heathrow.


Not a metaphor.
Just my Saturday night.


I'd boarded for Dubai — ready for warmth, work, and a fresh timezone.


But somewhere mid-air, the plane turned around.
No drama. No explanation. Just a quiet return to where I’d started.


The old me?
She would've spiralled.
Timeline panic. Disruption dread. “This wasn’t the plan” energy.


But this me?
The woman who lives by flexibility, not fixed dates.
The woman who chooses intuition over itinerary.
She booked a new flight.
Took herself for a mezcal.
And whispered — you’ll arrive when you’re meant to.


Because when you build a life like mine — borderless, heart-led, radically self-trusting — these things don’t rattle you.


They remind you:
You are not in control.
You never were.
And that’s not a problem. It’s the portal
.
Plans change.
Flights divert.
But peace? That’s a f*cking choice.


I don’t waste energy resisting what’s already happened.
I don’t make disruption mean disaster.
I just breathe, trust, and move with what is.


This is what OFH looks like in real life.


Freedom not just in where you go — but how you respond when sh*t goes sideways.
Trust not just in what’s next — but in the timing of it all.


So here’s your permission slip:
Surrender doesn't mean giving up.
It means getting out of the way.

Where are you gripping so tight to the plan… you’ve forgotten how to feel free?

M x