The farther you drift, the quieter everything becomes.
At first, they tried to follow the lines. The ones drawn by others; paths of achievement, purpose, definition. They were told those maps were reliable. That staying the course meant staying afloat.
But the child was curious. And curiosity has its own gravity.
So they set out in a small boat, drifting across a sky of impossible depth. In the stillness, something began to soften. Without the noise, their thoughts became clearer; unpolished, honest, slow like tides. They learned that drifting wasn’t the same as being lost. It was the quiet art of floating beyond the urgency of destination.
Over time, they no longer needed the boat.
Now, a little older, they float in open water beneath the deep night sky, with the awareness that what the world calls “weird” is often the first sign of a true direction; the kind that rises from within, not from imitation.
Somewhere behind them, the world still hums with shoulds and musts. But here, in this chosen quiet, they’ve found something else.
Freedom.