A year ending, a year beginning—
times of reflection on what has been,
and what’s to come.
Standing at the edge of uncertainty,
searching for a place to unpack
a backpack heavy with lessons.
It’s filled with shoulds and should-nots,
but mostly fears,
and the fragile hope of better things.
Yet it never feels light.
We’re all addicts to destinations,
charmed by mental images of places
we’ve never been—
so certain of their magnificence
that the present moment feels
poorly ordinary.
Vision boards and notebooks brimming with to-do lists,
days weighed down by restless minds—
frantic working, relentless comparing,
hustling to earn more,
just to afford more breaks.
We build towers of luxury
only to dream of lying peacefully in a forest,
not caring about dirty clothes
or phone signals lost in the quiet.
What are we doing?
Loving the idea of peace,
but cheating on it with an obsession for prestige.
Addicted to the promise of rest someday,
never letting the present moment
cleanse us of this longing.
There’s peace here,
exactly as it is—
but somehow the habit of wanting to be elsewhere swipes the peace aside,
leaving us chasing futures
that, when they come,
become the present we ignore again—
trading it for yet another dream.
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