The Quest.

Sometimes I worry I’m not doing enough.

With so much time now behind me, and somehow so little ahead of me…

I suffocate under the weight of this endless list I hold. Louder than ever, this urgency to make up for lost time.

Why?

Because the girl I was, she was scared.

Petrified of failure. Riddled with anxiety that arrived out of nowhere and slowly consumed her whole.

Now I understand it was tied to an array of health issues I wasn’t aware of at the time. But nonetheless, she lost herself completely.

She tried to dream, yet her mind was mute. The life had left her as she worked herself into the ground… and for what?

The lesson.

The motherfucking lesson.

Because now I understand. And now, I hold no fear.

My mind is loud again. My heart is healed. And these dreams seem to scream at me daily.

It’s no business, nothing the material world can offer, its not acknowledgement or status or proving anything to anyone…

It’s mountain names, languages, history and beaches. It’s my backpack, journal, hammock and sleeping bag.

It’s maps of the world spread across the floor, as if that girl who was once so fucking scared is finally brave enough to set her sails.

But as I’ve learnt, steady steps. Strategic progression. Silent moves compounding into loud results.

I cannot do it all overnight.

And even if I could… what would be the point in that?

So I keep moving forward.

List in hand. Bags packed. Heart on my sleeve and hope on my shoulder.

Bit by bit, I follow this quest.

Making up for the girl who allowed time to slip away, so I can continue being the woman who finally seized it.