Unpack the Bag You Carry

The bag is still by the door, packed for a trip that was cancelled years ago. You check the straps every morning before you leave for work, making sure the exit is ready, just in case the world cracks open again.

It is exhausting to carry the weight of a departure that never happened, to live as a guest in your own life, waiting for the signal to run. But look at your hands holding the coffee, the keys, the ordinary tools of today — this is not the waiting room you think it is.

The light does not need you to be ready to flee; it needs you to be present enough to see what is right in front of you. Unpack the bag.

The journey you were bracing for has already been replaced by the one you are living.