My mom always drove home a different way. Turning left instead of right, passing by the normal into the uncharted. From the grocery store, picking me up at school, it didn’t matter, she greeted each path with the anticipation of newness.
By doing so, she lived a perspective of innocent delight. Seeing “new” was shifting from the known into a place of the unknown.
Where is this unknown in my inner life? Is my practice turning stale and a right turn is in order? Am I traveling down the paths that will offer those shifts of newness?
It is solitary travel. No one shares this journey. It is a path of aloneness. But with that comes solidarity to my own compass, my own decisions, my own enchantment.
Can I drive this inner road, but with new eyes? Each day, each time, the glimmer of possibility to connect to the Divine is real.
Encouraged by this, I pause to take in the newness. Daily, my path is different, but the destination is always Home.
Letters to the Universe 