Temporal Letter: 2029 to 2026

I want to share something personal with you. Over the past years, I’ve learned that most of our confusion is not about what to do, but about when we are standing in relation to ourselves. We are taught to think from the present forward to plan, to predict, to optimize. But rarely are we invited to think from the future back, or to speak to the future honestly, or listen to time itself without trying to control it. These three letters I decided to share are a small ritual in that direction.

(1) The first letter I am publishing today is written from the future to the present, as a practice of trust. It asks: what changes when I let a future self speak from a place of integration instead of ambition? (2) The second letter is written from the present to the future, from inside uncertainty, fatigue, hope, and unfinished knowing. It refuses clarity as performance and chooses sincerity instead. (3) The third letter is written as time itself. I don’t see that as a metaphor, but as a reminder that time is not something we manage. It is something we relate to, feel through the body and learn to accompany.

I am sharing these letters publicly because I sense many of us are standing inside similar thresholds, often without language and companionship. If these words resonate, it’s not because they are “mine”. It’s because they touch something you already know but many have not had permission to articulate yet. My hope is that this small temporal exchange opens new forms of connection: slower, more honest, less performative, and invites us to recognize each other not by certainty but by the shared timing we inhabit. 

Thank you for reading with presence. See you on the other side.   

(1) The first temporal letter: From 2029 Gust to 2026 Gust

Written from a quieter place than you or I expect. 

“Dear Gust,

You don’t need to become stronger.

You already survived the part that required strength.

I’m writing to you from 2029, and the first thing I want you to know is this: nothing collapsed the way you feared. But almost everything you knew was rearranged. This rearrangement didn’t happen because you pushed harder. It happened because you finally let timing lead instead of carrying it. In 2026, you were still holding too many thresholds open at once. You thought that was care. You thought that was responsibility. It wasn’t. It was love mixed with old habits.

Your intelligence or your clarity were never missing. What changed was your willingness to disappoint the wrong timelines.  You stopped explaining yourself to futures that were never going to meet you. You stopped translating collapse for people who secretly wanted to preserve it. You stopped being available to urgency that was not reciprocal. And when you did  that, when you allowed a few bridges to close, something unexpected happened: the right crossings stabilized. 

By 2029 your work is less visible, but more inhabited. Fewer launches, fewer declarations, more rooms where people sit down and exhale without knowing why, with no need of announcing transformation. You finally can just host it. 

You learned that authority does not come from being early in movements of change. It comes from staying. Staying with a place. Staying with a few people. Staying with a rhythm long enough for trust to form. You finally let maintenance be as sacred as transformation is. And about money (because I know you worried about the long term) it came when you stopped trying to make it behave more ethically and instead designed conditions where it simply couldn't rush you. You priced slowness. You protected recovery. You charged for coherence. 

Mostly important: you stopped using your body as a buffer for systemic anxiety. You sleep more now. Not perfectly, I'm being real here. But more honestly. You laugh more easily again. You don’t explain time at a dinner table unless someone truly asks. So here is what I want you to remember in 2026, especially on the days you feel too early or slightly misaligned with everything: you were never meant to hold the future together. You were meant to let it arrive through you. Selective, like a coffee filter. Like a dreamcatcher.

Close what no longer crosses. Rest where rhythm returns. And trust that what remains is enough. I’ll be here. Living with steadiness. Remembering and inspiring your process of becoming who you truly are."

Gust. 2029.

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If this resonates and you want to explore your own timing, you can find my book page and book a strategy conversation here.