Nothing makes sense.
Not in the way we were promised it would.
We’re taught to look for trails—clear, worn paths that
others have walked before us.
But what if the ground beneath us isn’t a trail at all?
What if it’s a shifting terrain, aligned to something ancient,
something written before we were born?
It feels like I was handed a script I never auditioned for.
A cosmic outline etched into the stars, whispering that I have a mission. But it’s vague. It’s elusive. And every time I try to balance my life—career, relationships, self-care—I lose sight of it.
The mission fades into the background noise of survival.
I used to think clarity would come with age.
That one day I’d wake up and the fog would lift,
revealing a straight line from who I am to who I’m meant to be.
But instead, I’ve found myself wandering. Not aimlessly, but not traditionally either. My path doesn’t follow the rules.
It curves, it doubles back, it disappears entirely.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the mission isn’t something I discover—it’s something I create. Not by following a trail, but by carving one.
Not by aligning with what was written before me,
but by rewriting it in my own voice.
So here I am. Lost, but not defeated. Confused, but still curious.
I don’t know where this leads, but I know I’m walking it with intention. And maybe that’s enough.
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