There are nights when quiet feels heavy — not peaceful, but alive with something unspoken. Beneath that stillness, a pulse rises. Restlessness. Not loud, not disruptive, but a soft stirring that asks: What is about to change?

In The Light We Return To, I reflect on how quiet and restlessness travel together — how waiting becomes ritual, and how light, whether a lamp at home, or dawn after Nordic nights, anchors us back to ourselves. Each reminds us that waiting is not emptiness, but readiness. Everyday beginnings, cultural rhythms, and the promise of return weave together to remind us of the light we return to — faithful, familiar, and always present.