1.21.25 // A Journey, Not a Destination

We’ve all heard the phrase: life is a journey, not a destination.
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But sometimes the journey is the only thing that’s real. The place where time loosens its grip. Where we’re asked to slow our pace, soften our focus, and actually feel ourselves moving through the world. And in those moments, the reaching matters less than the being.
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I’ve noticed this shift in myself. A quiet unhooking from the hunger for arrival. There was a time when I lived for the finish line, when worth felt tethered to what came next. I believed meaning waited on the other side of effort, that once I crossed some invisible threshold, I’d be allowed to rest.
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But something changed as the years layered themselves into me. The craving for labels thinned out. I stopped needing proof. I stopped rushing toward a version of myself that promised relief.
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I’m drawn to the in-between. To move slowly enough to notice what usually gets passed over. To moments that feel like cashmere against the mind, soft, steady, warming, rather than the slick insistence of performance fabric urging me forward. I no longer believe softness is something you earn at the end. I think it’s something you’re meant to feel while you’re still on the way.