We often don’t think of paths as compilations of impurities. Of obstacles overcome time and time again. Of an entirety built from an eternity of coming into place.
We’re always going. From beds to coffee shops, to offices, places and spaces that constitute fragments of our sustenance. To crawling cars at half past four. To homes that take us back at the end of it. To dinner tables. To beds. To all of it. All over again.
The tortoise always gets to the finish line, regardless of what the hare does. That’s the part of the story we were never really told.
At this very moment, you are formulating and experiencing your own distinct journey.
If we only looked at the darkness, we would never see the beauty in the stars.