Temporal Letter #2: 2026 to 2029

A small note before you read.

The response to my first letter was very different across platforms. On Instagram, the engagement and private messages were much stronger than on LinkedIn. I think that says something about the spaces we inhabit: some reward performance, clarity, and outcomes; others make room for presence, resonance, and unfinished feelings.

I’m genuinely grateful for the messages I received in both places. Starting this exchange with a letter from the future was also intentional. It created a bit of width and breath before publishing the second one, which is the most vulnerable for me. The one written from the present. The one where I admit that I navigate the same uncertainty as everyone else, even if I’ve developed a temporal system that allows me to witness this moment in a way I’m proud of.

Here you can find the first letter, in case you’re joining now. The second letter comes next.

(2) The second temporal letter: From 2026 Gust to 2029 Gust

Written from the middle of the crossing.

“Dear Gust,

I am writing to you from 2026, from inside the noise. From the stretch where clarity exists but embodiment still lags behind. After half of this century and a few more years before, I don’t know yet which of my instincts are wisdom and which are exhaustion disguised as insights. But I am learning to tell the difference.

Right now, I feel like I'm standing between endings that haven’t finished ending. And also beginnings that refuse to arrive cleanly. People ask me to name what’s happening, and I can… but naming it doesn't always make it lighter. I want you to know that I’m trying. Far from any heroic sense. Just an honest one. I am trying to stop over-bridging. I am trying to trust that not every confusion needs my language. I’m trying to let joy exist without making it prove anything.

Some days I still measure myself against futures that move too fast toward directions that I do not believe. Some days I still worry that if I slow down, I’ll disappear. But there’s also a quieter knowing emerging. One that tells me that being in time is more important than being ahead of it. If you are reading this and things are calmer, please remember me kindly. Remember how much effort it took just to pause. Remember how loud urgency felt in my chest. Remember that every boundary I set here was practiced with shaking hands.

I hope you’re living closer to the ground. I hope your work has fewer words and deeper silences. I hope health, abundance, and love feels less like a set of projects and more like a rhythm. And if you’ve forgotten anything (if success ever tries to speed you up again) please come back to this moment and remember. I wasn’t trying to build a legacy. I was trying to stay human while time was breaking.

Take care of the body. Don’t abandon the ordinary. Keep the forest close, even when you’re far from it. I’ll keep walking. You keep lighting the way. We keep living.

With trust, unfinished but sincere,

Gust, 2026."

If this resonates and you want support navigating your own timing, I’ve opened a few spaces for strategy calls. The link is here.