Transition.
Point a to point b.
The longest distance between two places is a shortcut.

There are no short cuts.

I spent so long looking for the easy ways, refusing to put any faith in the long game because one never knows just how long we have.
But is that any reason to live in fits and starts, and never finishes?

And now I find myself blessed with the grace of aging, perspective broadened enough to see the benefit to the long game,
to the patience that goes with seeing things through to completion,
to setting goals that might (might!) come to fruition 5 years from now,
10 years from now,
30 years from now.

I see the benefit in planning for a garden that grows flowers because they’re pretty rather than food because it’s practical.
I see the possibility of a small house, a sanctuary with an actual piano and cozy nooks where older cats and dogs, adopted or fostered, can live out their lives in peace without stress. A space where stories come alive amid laughter, tears, star filled nights and sun soaked days. A home where love weaves it’s magic and there is always time for tea.
I see the worth in the words meaning something, beyond ramblings on a page that give me respite from the tumult of the mind, but no sense of solace, of closure, because I’m still learning the art of the follow through.

But that’s it, isn’t it?

I’m still learning, growing, transitioning from a person who doesn’t see the point to one who realizes that’s not what matters.

This is enough.
To know that it might happen is reason enough to keep going.
Dreaming of something is far better than dreaming of nothing at all.

And in life, just as true as in art.