you’ll never see the end of the road while you’re traveling with me

What choice do I have but to keep going? I may fail, I may make mistakes. I’m only human. But why dwell there, on that, on my imperfectness. Why live in frozen imperfection? I sometimes see this glimmer beyond “I must be perfect” that looks like “I can only do so much”. Sometimes I can even almost reach it, even though I-must-be-perfect cliff has lots of jagged edges and I get caught on it and it pulls me back, but if I just tug a little and let my sweater unravel, let it fall from me, let it hang from the pointed rocks on the cliff face and don’t look back for it, just keep going, even though I’m cold and the sweater was comfort and warmth, I keep going and the briskness warms me up and I don’t look back.

And I keep going.

Maybe I don’t have a fixed point right now, but I have forward momentum, and maybe not even forward, but movement of some kind, maybe sideways, maybe up, but I know how to keep going, so I do it.

It’s a little funny, I guess. I don’t have much solid ground, so to anchor me, I hold on to movement. I board planes and take cabs and watch the world go by from train windows. I buy a car. I may not have anything but my suitcase, but now I have a car. And it’s not fixed either, but then neither am I, so maybe I can just take it with me.

I don’t know how it all ends. And then I think, it’s not about the ending. It’s about the being here now. Experiencing this. Not fast forwarding through to see the end credits rolling. There’s no need for rolling credits when we can keep going, when we can take solace in the moments.

So, I’ll keep traveling. I’ll keep going. With my hobo bag, my airline tickets, my car.

I’m not traveling to the end of the road. I’m just traveling.

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