One fine Saturday, I set out to do something wildly productive. The kind of day that starts with a to-do list and ends with the smug satisfaction of crossing everything off it — a rare phenomenon, kind of like spotting a unicorn in a traffic jam.

First item on the list: “Clean the bedside drawer.”

That infamous drawer. The one that holds everything from batteries (dead and alive), pens, random skincare, something for the aches & pains, wires of strange unknown gadgets, takeout menus from restaurants that shut down in 2014, and at least three measuring tapes (different colours of course!) that seem to multiply when no one’s looking.

I stood in front of it, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a spool of intertwined wires I didn’t know we owned, and wondering if I should take up wire macramé. This spiraled into watching three YouTube videos, saving a Pinterest board titled “Boho DIY Home Vibes,” and texting a friend, “Let’s do something fun!”

Naturally, this meant I needed to check the cupboard for more craft supplies, which led me to find an old notebook, which had half an articleI wrote in 2019. I read it. I cringed. Then I rewrote it. Then I thought, Maybe I should just get back to writing more stuff for myself?

Cue: Another hour lost to opening my old blog, reading comments, replying to none, and debating if I should change the picture.

By 4:30 p.m., I stood up, slightly dizzy from the sheer number of tabs open in both my brain and my browser, stretched dramatically, and looked around.

The drawer was still open. Its contents were still on the floor. The wire pile had not moved an inch.

And I had cleaned absolutely nothing.

But my soul? That had been on a ride. I had revisited hobbies, half-written dreams, spontaneous plans, and silly old blogs. I had giggled at doodles I made during work calls and wondered whether old ambitions age like wine or cheese.

And then, with the same kind of serene surrender you see in wise old monks, I gently put everything back in the drawer (in no particular order, of course), closed it, and declared, “Done.”

I had come full circle.

And that, my friend, is a story that starts and ends in the same place.

The drawer didn’t get cleaned. But I did tidy up a few neglected corners of my heart. And isn’t that something?

Sometimes, not all loops are wasted effort.
Sometimes, wandering in circles is the only way to return to yourself.