We move forward. Somehow. Head down, heart open. We just do. Through detours, through roadblocks, we move forward—rushing toward the promise of what’s around the bend, the thrill of momentum, or the clarity of the vast, open horizon.
Sometimes on low days or days where anxiety tries to make itself at home in my bones, I move so slowly that it feels like stillness. But even then, life moves forward—earth shifts imperceptibly beneath my feet. Even then, I do my best to get up, to keep up. And I haven’t stopped yet.
