I can remember asking for signs, for guidance, for as long as I can remember, lying in the woods as a little kid, looking up at the sky and the branches and begging for an answer, a direction, an indication that I should do this, not that, or that I was following the right path. I never received an answer, and I've never trusted my own ability to make a decision that serves my highest good. Perhaps those things are related. Perhaps it's all a matter of trust.
Nonetheless, I find myself still asking, still looking, still pleading for a sign, for an indication because I don't seem to have the ability to read my own heart, to know what will bring me joy in this world. I've been a seeker for so long, and I'm still seeking. I'm dying to put this pack down, but when I do, the weight isn't lifted. It's intensified. So I keep walking, keep hoping that the right place will be so obvious, I wondered why I ever considered stopping anywhere else.