Lessons from a Long Walk: My Simple Hopes for 2026

December in Istanbul brings a cold wind that hits your face and a mind full of questions. Today - my birthday, as I walked from Caddebostan to Dalyan Park, I didn't feel the weight of my 42 years. Instead, I felt a quiet excitement for turning 43.

Often, those of us in the business world make the mistake of treating our lives like a "to-do list" or a "productivity project." This morning, I decided to step away from that role for a day and used one of my earned vacation days.

The Tiredness of Always Performing

When you start a new job or take on a big role, there is an unspoken fear: "You cannot make a mistake." It is officially announced that we are proud of our mistakes but do we? For the last few months, I have worked far too hard, trying to be perfect so that no one would feel my absence or the change in the role owner. But as I watched the waves hit the shore, I realized that working this hard is sometimes just a way to hide from ourselves.

We often talk about "well-being" like it is a luxury or a corporate buzzword. But I am learning that it is actually a basic need. It is the fuel that helps us keep going.

Listening to My Body

Being in your 40s is like a wake-up call. Your body starts to whisper—and sometimes shout—that it cannot go as fast as it used to. For a long time, I treated my health as something that would never run out. But looking at my recent check-up results, I saw that I haven't been taking care of my most important asset.

As we live longer, the "game" of life becomes a marathon, not a sprint. To finish well, we have to be smart about how we spend our energy.

A Small Legacy: What 2026 Means to Me

My plans for 2026 are not only about only health and money. I want to build a good future for my son, but the best thing I can give him isn't a bank account. It is the time we spend together - a Sunday morning by the pool or watching a sunset at a quiet hotel.

There is a beautiful saying: "We are not made of the things we own, but of the people we love." In the coming year, I want fewer "professional contacts" and more real friends. I want more depth and less noise. At the end of the day, what brings us home is the voice of the people who care about us.

A Final Thought

This post started as simple voice notes I took while walking. I am finishing it now after a quiet weekend away.

During that walk, I stopped for a Turkish coffee and sent a photo to my mentor to thank him for his help this year. He had told me before to stop listening to podcasts while walking and just be present. I told him I was only listening to music from SoundCloud (I found one of that Goldies during that walk - a song called Down by Flunk). He replied quickly: "Don't even listen to music. Just walk and think about the year you've had."

So, I walked in silence and looked back at my 2025. My lesson (apart from core business) for next year is simple: Do not skip the small breaks. The time you "waste" on the people and things you love is actually what makes you better at your job.

As I sit here on Sunday, I feel the urge to check my work emails to get ready for Monday. But I am telling myself: "No." 2026 should be about the quality of life, not the quantity of work.

Idle Moments: A Quiet Pause in the Rush of Life

It’s been a while, I know. But finding time for myself again — even briefly — feels like a breath of fresh air. Life has been tangled lately, with family health concerns casting a shadow over our days. Yet here I am, sitting next to my son at a café across from the hospital on a Saturday, both of us quietly working, stealing a moment of peace. It feels like any second a phone might ring or an urgent email might arrive, cutting this moment short. So I write quickly, pouring out what’s been building up inside.

It’s mid-July, and I haven’t touched the sea yet. I usually have a summer ritual — a quiet coastal town, a few days of sun and saltwater — but this year, it’s hard to tell if that will happen. I used to think people who lived day-to-day were careless or unstructured. Now, I understand them. Life teaches you things. Sometimes gently, sometimes not.

Work has become a rhythm I know by heart. The topics change, the days shift, but the volume remains: over a hundred emails a day, most demanding action. I stretch my hours into early mornings and late nights, and even weekends become catch-up zones. I get things done, without letting anyone down.

And what about the life that slips through the cracks? You might ask. I choose not to dwell on it. I choose to be content with what I have. Just this morning, I opened a new spreadsheet and mapped out a plan — how much I could earn monthly from the funds and stocks I like, until year-end. That’s how I comfort myself. If tough times come (hopefully they won’t), I’ll have financial support. As for emotional support… we’ll see who’s there when the time comes.

There’s a quote I’ve been carrying with me lately:

“If you’re healthy, you have many problems. If you’re not, you have only one.”

That’s why, even when my inbox explodes, or someone pings me on Teams during a call, or asks for something urgently — I remind myself: these are problems worth being grateful for. I complete the task and move on. No overthinking. No heavy meaning (Did I really believe that? Hmm… questionable).

Last night, I told my son not to take everything people say to heart. Even if it hurts, it might mean nothing to the other person. You’re the one who ends up worn out. And I remembered how I used to do the same — get caught up in tiny things. Thankfully, we learn. Time, life, and experience teach us how to cope.

We change. We grow. We leave behind old habits and pick up new ones. I’ve always said I’m someone who finds joy in routine. And every time I step outside that routine, I remember its value. This morning, I returned to my long-paused weekend walks. Strolling by the water, listening to new podcast episodes — it felt good. Like a car that’s just finished a long journey, engine still running, catching its breath.

During the walk, I snapped a photo that took me back to childhood. I had a badge with that same character on it — maybe in kindergarten, maybe early school years. Now my son has left those days behind. Time slips through our fingers.

While waiting for the elevator at the hospital, my phone buzzed with a notification: my sleep patterns have shifted. No surprise there. With more hospital visits, longer days on my feet, and the constant balancing act between work and family, rest has quietly slipped down the priority list. I know it’s not sustainable. But instead of promising myself that “things will get better soon,” I’ve started embracing a different mindset — one that feels more honest, more grounded.

“You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

That simple truth has been echoing in my mind lately. It’s a reminder that even in the middle of chaos, we need to refill ourselves — with rest, with quiet, with moments that belong only to us. Not because everything will magically fix itself, but because we deserve to feel whole even when life is messy.

And perhaps the best part? I can still write. Still share. Still connect.

If you’ve read this far, maybe you’re searching for your own idle moment.

When you find it, savor it.

Because life — real life — is hidden in those quiet pauses.