Hey there 🥰

Before we start today’s newsletter, I have some exciting news to share… my team and I have just launched an app! It’s called Momentum: Energising Habits, and it’s a habit-tracker with built-in accountability squads 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

We’ve designed it so you can stay consistent on habits that give you that energy boost — like that daily run you know is good for you but keep putting off. And as a bonus for my Letters to My Younger Self readers, I’ve created a journalling squad for us, so that we can support each other and build our daily journal habit together! 💪 You can join with my invite code: R3QHI9

I’d love for you to try out Momentum and let me know what you think of it! You can download it now on the App Store using the button below 👇

Click here to learn more about Momentum 🥳

And if you want to join my journalling squad: remember to use the invite code R3QHI9

Hope to see you there ☺️

So, back to today's Letter...

I just recently returned from my first trip back to London since moving to Hong Kong, and our first trip abroad with our baby girl (who I may or may not have totally over-packed for 🙈)!

There was something magical about returning to all the places we used to spend so much time back when we were living in London. I walked in Regent’s Park again, where I used to go for near-daily summer sunset strolls; where Ali and I went on one of our very early dates, manoeuvring a bright blue pedalo around happy ducks on the boating lake; where we went to take photographs in the blossoming rose garden together after our civil wedding ceremony in Marylebone. I revisited the coffee shops and restaurants and high streets we used to live in and among daily. Coming back felt at once as though nothing had changed and that everything had changed. Not because London was particularly different I suppose, but rather because I was.

It reminds me of a quote by Nelson Mandela:

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

For a window in time, London became my mirror, reflecting the ways I was not the same.

Looking back, this past year has been one of the densest periods of change in my life so far. Getting married to the love of my life, moving together to Hong Kong, growing a baby and then welcoming said baby to the world, becoming a whole mother, working on new businesses that both excite and challenge me, building a family and life together with Ali. And then coming back to those familiar British streets, I was reminded of the person I was back when it was the scenery of home. Same London architecture, same roses in Regent’s Park, same iconic black cabs and British pubs — but experienced with a changed lens.

This switch in perspective reminded me of the time I was still studying medicine at Cambridge University. I lived on-site in Emmanuel College, and every morning I’d rush bleary-eyed through the centuries-old cobbled lanes, gorgeous gothic architecture, past the punts and golden light reflecting on the River Cam, on the way to lectures about human anatomy, physiology, neuroscience and more. Day to day, it was easy to forget to look up and really see the beauty of it. It easily became ordinary through repetition. And only when returning after graduating did I really appreciate the quiet magic of the place that I was living and breathing in back then.

It was a powerful experiential lesson in romanticising life. Often we don’t realise how special something is until we step away. But in many ways, we don’t actually need to leave to feel that amazement. Sometimes we just need to select a new pair of metaphorical glasses.

So I’ve started asking myself more often: How can I view my surroundings, every pedestrian moment, with the eyes that are looking for beauty? What would it take to simply choose to view this present moment through the lens of gratitude? And, one that resonates deep in my bones when I truly think about it;

How can I view each moment as though it is my first and last time living it?

Because in many ways, that is the reality of life in each moment. Each passing moment we live is the first and last time we will experience it.

Which brings me to my baby. She has the ability to find wonder in what, to most adults, are the most plain things.

A few weeks ago, she discovered her (tiny) toes. To her, this wasn’t a “shrug it off” moment; it was a whole sensory and cognitive mind-blowing experience. She stared at them as though they were the most incredible sight, grabbed them, wiggled them with fascination, and cooed at them in genuine excitement. Her expression said it all: Wow, what are these incredible bizarre things… and I can move them! These are amazing. Wow! Wow. Extraordinary. So cool. Love it.

And then of course, she proceeded to stuff them into her mouth. (Any parent reading will relate 😂)

But watching her reminded me of a fundamental lesson in Buddhist philosophy: the concept of beginner’s mind, which invites us to approach the world as though everything is new. As though in every moment we’re beginning again. For babies, that’s not a practice; it’s simply how they live. But for us adults, it’s often a mental stance we have to relearn.

And seeing my baby discover everything for the first time, I’m suddenly brought into her world of wonder. The world comes alive again. A cup isn’t just a cup — it’s a marvel of design and invention, and somehow it holds milk which sloshes and moves in the most interesting way. A tree isn’t just background greenery; it’s a rush of branches and leaves and textures and sounds on an incredible scale. Even the sky, which can be easy to forget to look up at, can be wild if you actually pause for a moment to take it in… it’s just huge, and how far away is it, how big is it, why can’t we touch it… and (of course), why is it blue?

As a science-loving girl, I know many of these questions of wonder can be answered with logic and evidence and research. But this doesn’t mean that we need to lose touch with our innate attunement to amazement.

✍️ This week's journalling prompts:

🌟 What ordinary moment could I choose to romanticise today? If I looked at my life through a child’s eyes, what would feel magical?

🌟 How would I live differently if I saw each moment as my first time experiencing it? Or what if I viewed each moment as my very last time experiencing it?

I'd love to hear your thoughts on change, beginner’s mind, or ordinary moments in your life that become extraordinary when seen with fresh eyes, so please feel free to comment your thoughts down below ❤️

This is what London gave me on this trip, and what my baby teaches me daily. That the magic of life isn’t only in big, sweeping milestones. It’s also in paying attention to the small moments. Living life with full attention. In noticing how our perception reflects the ways we ourselves are growing and changing over time. In choosing to romanticise the ordinary. In taking a breath to look again, with eyes that are looking for beauty… and maybe even sniff at the roses too.

Lots of Love,

Izzy xx