Now halfway into my sabbatical, I want to check in. I have a story for you.

This summer, I ran into a strange minor glitch with my iPhone that had been around for a few years. After upgrading to a new device and transferring everything over in that slick, seamless Apple way, I thought I was in the clear, that old glitch might now be ironed out. Old phone discarded, new phone in hand, ready to go.

But the problem followed me.

It was subtle at first—something I’d noticed but didn’t think much about. Until it became an issue I couldn’t ignore: I was missing calls from hospitals and clinics because anything with "No Caller ID" went straight to voicemail. That kind of glitch becomes a big deal when you’re waiting for appointments or important news.

I tried everything—troubleshooting guides, YouTube videos, and even asking AI. I tweaked settings again and again, reset networks and SIM cards, spent hours on the phone with my mobile provider, and eventually found myself back at the Apple Store. Helpful as they were, they couldn’t solve it either. It was, they said, an unusual issue—unusual enough that all the usual fixes didn’t touch it.

Eventually, we traced the issue back to something deeper—not the network, not the SIM card, not the phone settings, but something buried deep in the system that would likely follow me from phone to phone. That’s when the Apple technician said something that stuck with me:

"Sometimes when we transfer everything from device to device, we carry the glitches forward with us. The only real way to clear it may be to do a total reset."

A factory reset.

It felt dramatic; I was reluctant. What if I lost something important? I've most certainly forgotten at least 90% of my passwords - arrrgh. What about all the little settings I’d spent months and years perfecting—my screen layout, apps, notifications, passwords, Face ID, and wallpaper? Even bigger arrrrgh. Starting from scratch felt so inconvenient and annoying. But I also realised that I had tried everything else.

So I backed everything up, took a deep breath, and wiped it clean.

And as I sat there, watching the reconfiguration (without a phone for once to preoccupy me for those long minutes), a blank screen processing, I found myself thinking about how often we do the same thing with ourselves. We carry over settings and systems, preferences and patterns, apps and programs, day after day, year after year—some of which serve us, and some of which quietly glitch and cause us problems in the background. Slowly, a problem starts to reveal itself. We apply little fixes. We troubleshoot. We ignore. Until one day, we can’t avoid it anymore.

The factory reset isn’t about becoming someone entirely new or reinventing yourself. It’s about getting honest with what’s outdated or dysfunctional. It’s uncomfortable, yes—but what awaited me after that discomfort was faced and slowly waned was the space to create again. As I reinstalled each app one by one, I had the chance to ask: Do I still want this? Does this still serve me?

I slowly rebuilt my phone, app by app, setting by setting. Some things came back. Others didn’t. Cleaner. A phone fit for purpose for exactly what I need now.

And the glitch? Happy to say... it is gone!

The more I let this space on sabbatical take me into its quiet wisdom, the more it asks for something deeper—not just a surface-level recharge but a chance to get honest, clear what’s been lingering in the background, and reset what truly matters.

What surprised me is how often this invitation comes not through big, dramatic moments or travel to exotic destinations but through small, everyday events and glitches—the ones that make you stop, pay attention, and ask, "Is this still working for me?"

This time away hasn’t just offered rest and a temporary break from a hectic life. It’s giving me the gift of perspective—reminding me that when we slow down long enough to really listen, we often uncover exactly what needs tending to. And when we do, the reset isn’t about becoming someone new—it’s about coming home to ourselves, with more clarity and intention. And if change is needed, to embrace it, without fear.

Maybe you’ve been sensing this too. Maybe there's something quietly nudging you to pause, breathe, and gently ask: What would I hear if I gave myself a little more space?

Let's practice... soon.