No Steps Wasted

There is a rhythm in the wandering.

Not every path leads where you thought, but every path leaves its trace.

To build is to wander sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with intention so sharp it hurts.

We look for the short way, the clean line.

But life prefers the labyrinth, the looping trail that bends back on itself.

The work that refuses to be rushed.

The apprentice wishes for mastery in a single stride.

The master knows there are no shortcuts, only the ground beneath each footstep.

You cross and re-cross the same ground:

A forgotten tool, a question unasked, a detour through the dust.

Annoyance flickers, then fades.

You begin to see that the "wasted" steps are not wasted at all.

They are invitations.

To notice the small break in a wall,

the lost glove under a scaffold,

the way sunlight lands on your hand at noon.

Presence grows in the extra step,

in the detour you did not want to take.

Every missed shortcut teaches you what is actually here,

not what you hoped would be.

Years later, you remember the long way.

Not because it was efficient,

But because it changed the way you walk.

Field Note:

Sometimes the shortcut is a mirage.

The long way home leaves footprints worth following.