Not a Fixed Path

Looking at this image, I’m reminded that forward movement doesn’t require a fixed path.

The tracks in the sand suggest intention and direction.  Someone came this way with purpose.  But the surface they’re written on tells another story.  Wind will soften the edges.  The tide may wash them away entirely.  New tracks will form.  Some will follow the same line.  Others will split off, overlap, or disappear altogether.

I find comfort in that.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to move forward without locking myself into a single outcome.  Writing has taken up more space in my days.  Photography continues to ground me in the present.  Some weeks one feels louder than the other.  Some days they run parallel.  Other times they seem to merge into the same quiet current.

I don’t feel the need to decide which path matters more.

The work changes.  The emphasis shifts.  What felt clear yesterday may feel different tomorrow.  That doesn’t mean I’m lost.  It means I’m paying attention.

The sand reminds me that permanence isn’t the goal.  Presence is.

There’s an excitement in knowing that the path ahead isn’t set in stone.  That it can respond to the wind, the tide, the light, and the season I’m in.  That forward movement doesn’t have to look the same every day to be real.

I try to remind myself that the only place enthusiasm truly lives is in the present moment.  Not in outcomes.  Not in guarantees.  But in showing up, again and again, with curiosity and intention.

Each day carries a new possibility.  Each day is a gift of life.  The direction, for now, is simply forward.

And that feels like enough.