In some ways it appears I’ve just been wandering. Retiring from work. Letting go of roles. Responsibilities. Possessions. Long periods spent in silence and retreat. But the river of my life has been quite deliberate in her direction. Always pulling me towards my soul’s calling. Letting me know when I’ve taken a wrong turn, drying up, no longer flowing freely. Forcing me to change course or die in the marshlands.

The river seems to know where she is going. If only I can trust, listen. Allow the current to move through me instead of trying to control. She is a river after all. Sometimes she encourages me to swim harder. Get to my destination. Other times the invitation is to drift. Float. Languish along her banks.

Occasionally I need to pull over. Dock my boat. Drink from the clear clean water. Get a good night sleep before I can resume my wandering. Sometimes this respite takes days. Weeks. Even years.

I have come to trust the river. Her capacity to regenerate. Self-correct. Adjust to the ever-changing tides. Smiling at me when I think I know best, but turns out I don’t. She holds no grudges. She is continually evolving. Changing. Renewing.

As am I.