Turning Point!

Turning Point!

​A turning point is a decisive moment in the flow of life, story, or emotion when the direction changes.

The before and after are clearly different,
and it comes from the realization that you can no longer live the way you used to.

It can be a big event,
or a very small realization or change in emotion.
The essence is the point where you accept the change and begin to move in a new direction.

The mind right before a turning point is a time when very complex and contradictory emotions intersect.

Even though it may look no different from usual on the outside, signs of change are already stirring deep inside.

The first emotions that come to mind are feelings of despair and frustration. The current life somehow does not fit me, and a vague discomfort that something is going wrong continues to shake my mind. Daily life repeats, but in the midst of that repetition, I become increasingly lethargic, and the question, "Is this really the life I want?" arises.

Along with this, psychological fatigue and emotional guidance overlap. Even if the body is fine, the mind is exhausted, and even the smallest things easily make you sensitive or emotionally broken. You may feel as if you have lost yourself in repetitive relationships, fixed roles, and endless responsibilities. People in this period often tell themselves that they are "holding on."

Self-doubt also deepens. You look back on your choices and directions so far, and wonder, "Did I do something wrong?", "Why am I like this?" The same questions come to mind. You blame yourself or compare yourself, and you feel confused between your past self and your present self. You don’t really know where you are or where you should go.

And yet, your longing and desire grow stronger. You want to escape from your current state and find a clue to change, but you still don’t have a specific picture. Just your intuition that ‘this can’t go on’ is becoming clearer. As a result, you become sensitive to a sentence in a book, a picture, or a word from someone else, and your heart wavers. It’s a time when small stimuli come to you with a big resonance.

In Eastern philosophy, particularly in Saju (Four Pillars of Destiny), the concept of Gyo-un-gi refers to a pivotal period of transition when one's major life cycle, known as Daewoon (the Ten-Year Luck Cycle), shifts from one phase to the next. The term literally means "the crossing of fortunes," and it signifies not just a change in time, but a deep energetic turning point that can impact one's direction, emotions, relationships, and mindset.

This period usually occurs every ten years, and its influence often begins a year or two before the actual transition and continues a bit after. It is a time when the influence of the old cycle begins to wane, and the energy of the new cycle starts to emerge. During this overlap, many people experience internal restlessness, confusion, emotional instability, or even physical fatigue. There’s often a strong sense that "something is shifting," even if nothing outwardly dramatic is happening yet.

One of the key emotional signatures of Gyo-un-gi is the sense that what used to work no longer fits. Familiar routines start to feel draining, long-standing relationships might feel strained or misaligned, and even one's own identity may begin to feel unclear. There's a quiet but powerful urge to change — not always to escape, but to evolve.
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Eastern philosophy views this not as a crisis, but as a necessary pause and redirection. It’s a preparatory stage in which the soul readjusts to align with the flow of the next ten years. The friction, uncertainty, and discontent are not signs of failure but symptoms of growth. Just as the tide recedes before a wave returns, Gyo-un-gi represents the drawing back of old patterns before a new momentum begins.
Navigating this period well means allowing space to reflect without rushing decisions. Cultivating inner routines — such as meditation, writing, time in nature, or engaging in creative work — helps stabilize the mind and reconnect with one’s deeper intuition. Often, insights come not through logic, but through stillness.

Ultimately, Gyo-un-gi is not just about a change in fate, but a shift in consciousness.

It is the point where past and future meet, and from that intersection, a renewed version of the self begins to form. Though it may be uncomfortable, it is also filled with possibility — the groundwork for a more aligned and meaningful decade ahead.

I don’t consider myself someone who believes in fate.

I like to think that life is shaped by the choices we make, not by something written in the stars or calculated in a chart. Concepts like horoscopes, astrology, or Eastern fortune systems like Saju and the ten-year Daewoon cycle have always felt distant — interesting, but not quite something I could fully accept.

And yet, there are moments in life when something unmistakably shifts.
The things that used to feel comfortable suddenly don’t fit anymore.
Routines become burdens, relationships lose their ease, and a quiet restlessness settles in, hard to explain but impossible to ignore.

In Eastern philosophy, they call this a Gyo-un-gi — a “turning period” when your life’s energy is said to shift course. A time of subtle (or sometimes abrupt) transformation, where what was once aligned begins to fall away, and something new waits to begin.
I don’t know if I believe in that exactly.

But I do believe in patterns, in the hidden rhythm of life that we only recognize once we’ve moved through it. Looking back, I can see moments where I let go of things I never thought I could, or when a single phrase, image, or fleeting encounter stirred something inside me — something that made me realize, “I can’t keep going like this.”

I may not believe in predetermined fate,

but I do believe that life sends us clues when it’s time to change.
That the world, our body, and our spirit often whisper to us long before we consciously decide to listen.
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Those whispers are not always clear, but they matter.
They are the cracks in our comfort zone,
the quiet invitation to evolve,
the gentle but firm nudge toward another version of ourselves.
So no, I don’t believe in fate.
But I believe in timing, in shifts that ask us to pay attention,
and in the courage it takes to follow the pull of something we don’t yet fully understand.
Sometimes, the moment we start asking
"Where am I going?" or
"What is this discomfort trying to tell me?"
— that’s already the beginning of the turn.