Under the same moon and different thoughts, same solitude. Do I really chase anything or does what belongs to me come on its own? Is patience just waiting or is it the quiet knowing that everything finds its way to me? And if everything is meant to be, do we even need to plan at all?
Tonight I found myself sitting with a quiet question that doesn’t really want an answer, it wants to be felt. “Do I chase, or does it come to me?” It feels like there are two signs in me. One that wants to trust, to lean back into life and believe that what is meant for me will find its way. And another that tightens slightly, that wants to plan, to move, to make sure I don’t miss something that could slip through my hands. I can feel now, both signs are trying to protect me in their own way.
Patience, I used to think it meant waiting. Almost like putting life on hold. But tonight it feels different. It feels more like a quiet steadiness inside my chest like I can stand in the unknown without needing to rush out of it. Not frozen, not passive, just not afraid. Maybe I don’t need to chase. But maybe I’m also not meant to stand still. Maybe what belongs to me isn’t something that simply appears, maybe it meets me halfway. Maybe it’s already moving toward me, in the same way I am slowly, sometimes unconsciously, moving toward it. And planning maybe it’s not about controlling what happens. Maybe it’s just a gentle way of telling myself: “I care about where I’m going.” Not a rigid map, but something softer. A direction I can adjust as I go. There’s something relieving in that. I don’t have to force life to happen. But I also don’t have to disappear and wait for it either. I can participate. Move when it feels clear. Pause when it feels right. And trust that both are part of the same path.
drawing by wolkenpirat
’26, march 24th
Maybe that’s what patience really is, not waiting, but quietly knowing I am already on my way.
And as I sit a little longer with these thoughts, I find myself imagining an older person, the sort that does not interrupt, but arrives precisely when one is ready to hear it. You see, my dear, we are never quite as simple as our questions would like us to be. The notion that one must either chase life or patiently await its arrival is, in truth, a charming but misleading oversimplification. We are, each of us, both the hunter and the homecoming. That gentle tension you feel, the pull to trust and the urge to act, is not a flaw in your design. It is the design. One part of you leans toward possibility, the other toward protection. And rather inconveniently, both are rather convinced they are right. It is worth noting, too, that we are not only afraid of missing what is meant for us but, quite curiously, also of receiving it. For to arrive somewhere, emotionally, existentially, is to be seen, to be changed, and to relinquish the familiar comfort of longing. So we hesitate. We plan. We surrender. We circle.
And all the while, life kinda patient, unbothered continues to meet us in motion. Perhaps, then, the task is not to resolve this inner debate once and for all, but to develop a certain fondness for it. To recognise when to lean forward with intention, and when to recline into trust, without turning either into an absolute. Think of it less as a map, and more as a kind of conversation between you and existence itself. Walk, when the path invites you. Pause, when something within asks to be heard. And above all, remain available, not merely for what you seek, but for what might quietly be seeking you. For in the end, it is not a question of pursuit or patience at all, but of presence.