You watch people cross in front of you.
Some rushing. Some changing lanes mid-step.
All of them looking like they know where they're going.
It's tempting to wonder if you missed something.
If their urgency means your stillness is wrong.
But movement isn't meaning.
Busy feet don't prove a clear head.
Seneca saw it centuries ago.
A myriad of footpaths. People wandering in every direction.
Confident noise. No signal underneath.
Your path doesn't ask for proof.
It asks for presence.
Not the absence of doubt.
Just the decision to keep walking anyway.
The clearest direction isn't the loudest.
It's the one that stays when the noise fades.
