It is curious, sometimes, the path we find ourselves on. There are times in my life, and not infrequently, where I wonder how I ended up where I am, who I am. The path ahead leaves few distinct clues. Those it does leave, the signs I interpret as having meaning for my own path — “Sidewalk Trail” — end up as a sign meant for someone else. There is sometimes apprehension. I look down the path and wonder how far it continues for me. I cannot see its end, yet it could be just out of my sight. Will I be prepared to travel that path, the one whose end could be near. Or perhaps the larger question, will I be prepared to continue on to places not familiar, figures unknown, no end in sight. Does the path even end, even when it ends?
I realize I cannot prepare and there are too many questions to be answered. I know that I must step forward. Standing still is not an option. The path magically moves beneath my feet, as if the genie is its pilot, and I move forward regardless of my desire, at times, to remain statuesque.
I wish I could see what’s up there.
I’m glad I can’t see what’s up there.
I’ll just keep moving on the path.