Always Almost There
I’ve been doing a bit of mini traveling lately. Nothing major — just hopping on trains for a few hours to visit family, meet a friend, try out a new gym. But still, it counts. I left the house. I made plans. I packed the things I thought I might need to feel okay when I’m not at home. And for someone like me — someone who’s an anxious traveler — that’s something.
Moving Towards
Sometimes I look back at past trips and think: How did I manage that?
How did I choose a place, pick a time, decide when it was right to return? I’m honestly impressed with that version of me. The one who just... went.
Lately, I’ve started to wonder if traveling — even in these small ways — is more than just going somewhere. Maybe it’s like the doors I’ve been writing about. A metaphor. A movement between states of being. A kind of practice for letting go, or naming what we’re moving toward.
Almost There
There’s always that strange space in between:
Between dreaming and being.
Between where we are and where we think we should be.
Between the fantasy of a big gallery show or an opera house production... and the reality of sneezing whenever I’m near a horse.
Still — life is good.
In Munich, I met two artist friends. I ate tofu and way too much chili. We had an inspiring night, full of creative conversation. And the next day, over coffee (I love how casual that sounds — like this is my everyday life. In truth, I’m social like this maybe once a year), we talked about the feeling of never really arriving.
Are we posting often enough? Is the gallery cool enough? Are we charging too much? Too little?
What’s our worth in all of this?
Where is it going?
What’s the end game?
And maybe there isn’t one.
Maybe it’s not about arriving at a final destination, but staying in motion — dream after dream, door after door, moment after moment.
Maybe we’re all just travelers. Always almost there.
