There are days when I feel I have done a lot and yet not accomplished much. I’m not sure what I expect. When I *do* feel I have accomplished something, the heavens don’t open; the angels don’t sing my praises. The event passes with an outpouring of silence.

At times I feel it is only with baby steps I make my way toward an unknown. I may think I know where I’m headed, but from experience I know I have no clue what lies ahead (for instance, a year ago I knew I’d physically be right where I am now. I didn’t know all the details, but I was pretty sure I’d be here. Six months before that, the thought of me being in New Jersey was not even an option.) There is no way to plan.

The goal isn’t the finish line, it is merely the next step taken.

Never positive at the outset of an endeavor I move along as steadily as I can. It’s not very steady usually. My life moves on unkempt roads with no markings as to where they lead. It’s fun, and can be quite an adventure, but it’s not necessarily the safest roads to take.

I wonder sometimes if I am spinning my wheels, Alabama-style with one wheel stuck and the other slinging mud everywhere: one wheel raring to go and the other asking me if I’m sure that’s the right direction.

Decisions, decisions. Once they’ve been made you gain traction and it’s a drag race to keep up. Strap in. Decide and you’re headed somewhere.