Nothing calls you out of life more than the journey,
Of arriving somewhere unfamiliar.
We shed the skin of the known,
Shrug on the jacket of the unknown,
And in the stark departure from daily routine,
We are confronted
Shaken at the lapels by the newness before us.
Travel cracks open the shell of the ordinary,
Revealing the raw, untouched places inside us.
It circles and points,
Bleeding the ink of its neon highlighter as it covers the page,
Illuminating the shadows that need to change,
Whispered assurances of all that is right.
There’s a strange comfort in this unsettling,
A reminder of the incredible life we live,
And the silent plea to chase the horizon.
To journey is a blessing,
Returning with a deeper love for life, however,
Is the truer gift.
To see our lives with fresh eyes,
To crave the comfort of what we’ve built,
To pick up the familiar and embrace the mundane all over again
There’s beauty in waking up in new places,
But there’s also magic in opening our eyes to what we know,
In the ache to return to what is precious, stable, faithful,
And the quiet, profound gratitude for it all.