Feb 18
North Isn’t a Place
I thought getting lost would feel dramatic. Storms. Wrong turns. Some cinematic collapse.
But it was quieter than that.
It felt like scrolling at 2 a.m. Like driving with no music on. Like success that didn’t feel like mine.
One night, I found an old brass compass in my drawer — heavy, steady, unimpressed by my confusion.
It didn’t glow. It didn’t buzz. It didn’t try to impress me.
It just pointed.
And I realized something:
Maybe purpose isn’t something you chase. Maybe it’s something you return to.
North isn’t a place. It’s a promise you make to yourself — to move with intention, even when the road goes quiet.
—
Some things don’t tell you where to go. They remind you who you are.
