Everything in life feels off center and crooked. Odd angles jutting here and there through a forest of misguided direction.
Of course, you can’t see the big picture when you hover so low to the ground. Too many shadows, obstacles, possibilities.
Look down at yourself and laugh at how tiny it all becomes.
Soar higher, until all detail is lost. Until there’s just a quiet quilt far beneath you, waiting to cushion your landing.
Don’t land until you have to. Tail wind, tailspin, kite flyer.
Holding on to air is just as difficult as clinging to nobody’s hand.
Don’t let go.
You are the compass in an ocean of sunlight. Your shadow points in every direction.
Light, dark, light, dark through a checkerboard of miles.
Pack lightly. Travel far.