For so long, I thought healing meant looking backwards.
Understanding why I was the way I was.
Remembering what happened.
Connecting the dots.
Revisiting the memories.
Understanding the fears.
Figuring out where everything came from.
And for a while, I needed to do that.
I needed to look at the parts of my past that I had spent so long avoiding. I needed to understand the stories I had been carrying without even realising it. I needed to see how much of my present was being shaped by things that had already happened.
But somewhere along the way, I realised something.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking backwards.
Because the past may explain me, but it doesn’t get to have all of me.
There is a strange kind of blindness that comes from constantly looking behind you.
You can be walking through something beautiful and never see it.
You can miss the sunlight.
The trees.
The people who make you smile.
The unexpected opportunities.
The little moments that make a life.
It’s like walking through the world with a blindfold on, because you’re so focused on where you’ve been that you forget to notice where you are.
A year ago, if I had understood all of this, I probably would have turned healing into another project.
I would have wanted to know how to get to the finish line as quickly as possible.
How do I fix myself?
How do I heal faster?
What else do I need to understand?
What should I be doing?
How can I become better?
I would have searched for the next thing to work on, the next lesson to learn, the next part of myself that needed fixing.
But I don’t feel that way anymore.
Maybe there isn’t a finish line.
Maybe there was never anything wrong with me that needed to be fixed.
Maybe the point was never to become some perfectly healed version of myself.
Maybe the point is simply to live.
To wake up in the morning and actually notice the day.
To enjoy the coffee.
To laugh with my dog.
To go somewhere I’ve never been.
To create something.
To say yes when an opportunity appears.
To sit quietly when I don’t feel like doing anything.
To notice the sunset instead of thinking about what I should be doing next.
To be here.
Right here.
Of course, I still have doubts.
I still wonder whether I’m on the right path.
I still question whether I should stay where I am or take a different direction.
I still think about all the ways things could go wrong.
But I’m learning not to make those questions bigger than they need to be.
I don’t need to have every answer today.
I can listen.
I can feel.
I can pay attention to what feels right.
And then I can take the next step.
Some days I get so much done that I feel incredibly productive.
Other days I do almost nothing.
And once upon a time, those days would have been filled with guilt.
I would have told myself I was wasting time.
That I should be doing more.
That I wasn’t trying hard enough.
Now I’m learning something different.
Those days are days too.
A day doesn’t have to be productive to be meaningful.
A day spent resting is still a day.
A day spent laughing is still a day.
A day spent doing absolutely nothing but enjoying being alive is still a day.
And perhaps that is one of the biggest things awakening has taught me:
I don’t need to constantly be working towards a better version of my life.
I can actually experience the one I have.
The universe keeps giving us these little moments, these unexpected openings, these ordinary days disguised as something insignificant.
Maybe the invitation isn’t always to figure out where they’re taking us.
Maybe sometimes we’re simply being asked to show up and experience them.
So I’m putting down the blindfold.
I’m turning away from the endless review of everything that has already happened.
I’m allowing the past to be the past.
And I’m looking forward.
Not because I know exactly where I’m going.
But because I finally want to see what’s in front of me.
Maybe the journey isn’t something I need to hurry through.
Maybe the journey is the point.
