For the wanderers; the ones still finding their way…
Footsteps
Mine are only one pair among many—
set down for a moment, then gone.
A trace of searching.
A question in motion.
Will I be found,
or left wandering—
eyes tilted toward the sky,
waiting for a sign?
Tell me:
where does the wind decide to turn?
Where does the road fall away
into something that feels like release?
I want to walk where the earth forgets
how to hold me—
far, far away
to the place that beats like a heart,
to the path that vanishes
into the quiet below.
Take me there.
Let my footsteps become yours.
Guide me home—
not to a house,
but to rest.
To stillness
without silence.
To quiet
that hums holy.
Where I am not asked to strive,
to prove,
to perform—
but simply
to be.
Let me unfasten the ache I’ve carried.
Let the wind name it for me
and lift it away.
Let the ground rise
to meet what’s left of my weariness.
I don’t need a map—
just permission to stop.
Just one breath
that believes I can.
And maybe—just maybe—
home isn’t a place,
but the moment
I stop resisting.
Because when we stop resisting,
we finally see
what we’ve been avoiding—
the detours,
the buried grief,
the turning away.
Some of us wander
because we are seeking.
And some of us learn to stay—
to settle,
to soften—
and find what’s been waiting
right here
all along.
At some point,
we all need to set the pack down,
peel off our shoes,
and look inward—
to find the stillness
that never abandoned us,
the quiet
that was never empty,
to remember
what has always lived
inside our own becoming—
no matter where we are.
Hey, I’m Jenn — thanks for reading and keeping up with my shenanigans. I love telling stories, especially the kind that make you laugh a little and think a little. As I share these slices of life, I try to reflect on what I’ve learned (or at least should have learned).
If you’re into this kind of thing, stop by again sometime — you might just find something that resonates.
Be well, stay weird, and wear sunscreen.
Until next time…