Reflections

A symbol shows up where it shouldn’t.
Not on your usual path.
That’s when it feels different.

You can call it coincidence.
Or let it do its quiet work.

When you hold an intention lightly, your attention sharpens.
You notice more.
Leaves glow.
Blossoms stop you mid-step.

The danger isn’t in seeing meaning.
It’s in chasing it everywhere.

The point isn’t to decode the world.
It’s to stay awake inside it.

Some things don’t need explaining to matter.
They just need you present enough to notice.

Recently it feels like the trees have been updated.
Same shapes. Same places.
But something hums beneath the surface.

The leaves catch light like they remember something.
Greens feel deeper.
Edges glow longer than they should.

It’s not loud.
No announcement.
Just a subtle shift you only notice if you’re not rushing past.

As if the world quietly refreshed itself overnight.
And kept it secret from anyone moving too fast to see.

Some changes don’t ask to be explained.
They ask to be witnessed.

I was held up for five minutes this morning.
A tiny delay. Nothing more.

Then traffic stopped.
Twenty more minutes added to the trip.
Frustration building.

But reaching the front changed everything.
A collision.
And a calm realisation that my timing had shifted for a reason.

Perhaps the delay wasn’t a nuisance after all.
Maybe it was the universe guiding me out of harm’s way.

I’ve been asking the universe to show me Yellow-tailed black cockatoos.
For weeks the sky stayed quiet.

Then they started appearing. One. Then a pair. Then a whole shadow crossing overhead.

There’s a patience to this kind of thing.
You ask. You stay open. You let time do its work.

Most signals don’t arrive on command. They show up when you’ve slowed down enough to notice.

Lists get shorter. Lives get smaller.
Chats at the cafe. A neighbour on the footpath.
Each one trimmed to make room for the next tick.

When pace leads, people fade into scenery.
Small talk stays small. Stories never surface.
The day is efficient and oddly empty.

Make trade-offs on purpose.
Leave a beat after hello. Ask one more question.
Let a real moment outrank the next notification.

Choose the person, not the ping.

We hit the crossing button more than once.
Like the lights will notice our urgency.

It’s the same instinct that makes us reload pages, check messages, or circle back to things already set in motion.

We can’t stand still, even when stillness is the only move left.

What are we really trying to hurry?

A magpie dived at a scooter today.
Wings flared. Beak sharp.
The rider never flinched.

One committed to attack.
The other committed to moving forward.

We call it defence, instinct, survival.
But often it’s just noise colliding with presence.

Some things only have power if you give it to them.

Keep moving forward.

Most people skim the surface. Few question what’s underneath.

The surface is fast. It looks neat. But it leaves the hard truths buried.

Critical thought isn’t glamorous. It means slowing down, digging deeper, refusing easy answers.

Ignorance is quick. Understanding takes patience.

I sat in public waiting for friends. Normally I’d hide in my phone, filling the silence, avoiding the awkwardness of just sitting there.

But the sun was warm. People were moving. The world kept going without me doing anything.

And that was enough.

Not every pause needs filling. Sometimes it’s better to notice what’s already there.

On a climbing wall, falling isn’t failure. It’s part of the climb.

Everyone drops. No one points and laughs. You just get back on the wall and try again.

Failure in public is lighter than it looks. Fear is what gives it weight.

Anxiety says don’t try. The wall says progress comes through falling.