Reflections

Someone pointed out I could drive there. Another said I could walk across the oval.
Both were right. Both faster.

But the longer path curved beneath trees. Birds flickered between branches. Flowers lined the edge.

I realised how quickly I look for shortcuts, even when there’s nothing to save.
Not every path is meant to be optimised. Some are meant to be enjoyed.

There’s a calm that only shows up when you realise you’re not the only one finding your way.

Someone else facing the same uncertainty.
Someone else reading the same quiet signals.

You don’t need to lead to feel sure.
Sometimes it’s enough to know you’re moving together.

A magpie calls across the dusk.
One last warble before the night settles in.

It doesn’t care what the day produced.
Whether nests were built or just imagined.

It sings, then rests.
Because that’s the rhythm.

Rest isn’t earned. It’s natural.

Some days the current carries you. Words fall into place, ideas unfold without effort.
Other days it’s like dragging a boat uphill. Every line fights back.

The current decides more than we think.

When the flow is there, ride it.
When it’s gone, stop pushing. Let the water find its way again.

That quiet guilt creeps in.

I should write more.

I should apply for jobs.

It sounds productive but it just stalls you.

Systems don’t argue. They act.

I’ll write once a day.

I’ll apply for two jobs.

No pressure. Just a rhythm to follow.

You don’t rise to motivation.

You fall to the level of your systems.

Two mornings in a row, my side mirror spider has come out to say hello.

The same one that built a web on the glass months ago, steady through rain and wind.

Spiders are weavers. Connectors. Patient builders of invisible lines that hold more than they seem.

Lately I’ve been dreaming of them too.

Maybe it’s not coincidence. Maybe it’s a reminder.

To keep building quietly, to trust what’s unseen.

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?

From a distance, every mountain looks impossible.
Too steep, too far, too much.

Most of the time, that size only exists in our head.
Fear stretches the slope and thickens the air.

But the first step always shrinks it.
Each move makes the climb more real, and less terrifying.

What feels impossible is often just unfamiliar.