From Far Away

Last time I sat and wrote something longer, I talked about the season of life in which I fins myself. Although I’d like to keep thinking existential thoughts, why don’t I move along.

This week has been very busy even though I haven’t traveled anywhere. Instead, I have been preparing for travel. The preparation of the thing seems to me just as important as the journey itself. I am not one of those travelers who can go on a whim with no thought about where the next meal will come from. Rather, I plan accordingly and detail out how much I should bring and what shoes I should wear. As I near the trip, I start to get anxieties about whether or not I even planned enough. At some point, this worry multiplies into thoughts about whether I should go on the trip at all.

I am starting to realize that life isn’t lived while you are planning. Real moments are formed when you let the travel take you to your next adventure. As much as I want to be in control and make each moment special, the reality is I am not physically capable to do so.  Even though I am just taking a weekend trip, this realization has broader impact on my perspective. The prepping, the doomsday attitude will only provide me so much comfort and joy when I walk through life’s journey.

Therefore, this weekend I won’t worry about each meal or each moment spent. Instead I will roll with the punches, let me hair down, throw caution to the wind and treasure each uncertain moment.




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