There is a path I'm sometimes on at various points in my life. Other times, I'm off in the trees, taking side trails just to see where they lead. I often end up in interesting spots, come back with new friends and experiences I'd never have if I just stuck to the main trail. But I usually find my way back to that solitary path eventually, whether through instinct or some steady sense of direction.
Other times, I stay in those woods long enough to get a little lost. The trail there might be more well-worn or gently sloping. The change of pace is nice; there are warm evening campfires with warm people. In time I might think, 'I really need to get back on the path — just after the next bend.' And then 6 months have gone by, and I'm still in the woods, figuring I'll get back eventually.
In certain ways, this is how I've felt this year. But it seems this time far from home has swiftly dumped me back out on that main route, wherever it leads.
It's good to be home, good to have traveled; good to remember, again, what my days are for.
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