The Detour Was the Point
I used to love plans. It made me feel safe to know where I was headed — where I’d sleep, what I’d wear, who I’d become.
But some of the most beautiful moments in my life have happened far off the itinerary.
The alley café with no name, where I wrote half a poem. The walk I took just to clear my head — and ended up watching the city turn golden. The stranger who said something so kind, I wrote it in my journal.
There’s magic in not knowing. In saying yes to the unknown. In trusting that detours don’t mean delays — sometimes, they’re direction.
I still plan. I still love structure. But I’m not afraid to follow instinct when it whispers, “Turn here instead.”
Because maybe that’s where the real luxury lives — in the freedom to follow curiosity.