The Long Way Down

I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, pulling out old journals I haven’t opened in years. It is funny how we try to categorize our lives into neat, tidy sections, as if we can control the narrative of where we have been. But as I flipped through the pages, I realized that the most important parts of my history weren’t the planned chapters. They were the deep, jagged rifts—the moments where life carved something new into me, often without my permission. We spend so much time walking on the surface, keeping our feet on solid, predictable ground. We fear the drop, the sudden change in elevation, the places where the earth simply opens up and demands we look at what lies beneath. Yet, it is only in those deep, winding paths that we truly see how much time has passed and how much strength it took to keep moving forward. Do you ever wonder what would happen if you just let yourself fall into the rhythm of those deeper, hidden currents?

Sergiy Kadulin has captured this feeling perfectly in his image titled Colorado River. It reminds me that even the most stubborn earth eventually bows to the persistence of water. Does this view make you feel small, or does it make you feel like you are finally seeing the bigger picture?