Wayward Haven Farm

It’s ok to be right where you are.

From where I sit, that’s the only place any of us can be.

If worry is the thief of joy, then no wonder so many of us feel stretched thin these days. The world is uncertain, the future is uncertain, and even the essentials seem to drift further out of reach. It’s a strange time to be a person trying to live a life.

Still, this is where we are.

And it’s ok to be here, even if it’s not where we want to stay.

When things feel weird or heavy or fogged over, I come back to a single question: What’s true for me, here and now.

That question has saved me more times than I can count. It pulls my attention out of the swirl and back into the moment, into my breath, my body, my actual life. Some things I can influence. Many things I cannot. But when I acknowledge how I feel and let what’s true emerge, something inside settles. Sometimes it takes a few minutes. Sometimes it takes a long, wandering journal entry. Either way, the murk clears just enough for the next step to appear.

Jon Kabat‑Zinn writes about this in Wherever You Go, There You Are and Full Catastrophe Living, the practice of returning to the present moment, not as an escape but as a way of actually living. Worry pulls us into futures we can’t control. Presence brings us back to the one place where anything real can happen.

And yet, staying grounded is hard in a world that constantly tells you you’re behind, that you should be somewhere better, that someone else knows what’s right for you. I’ve learned slowly, stubbornly that my inner life matters more than any of that. Who I choose to be. Who I’m becoming. What I know to be true in my bones. I listen to others, sure, but I take it all with a grain of salt. Not everything offered is meant for me.

There’s a moment, right between the world’s expectations and my own truth, where I have to choose where to place my attention. That small moment matters. It’s where I remember that grounding doesn’t come from meeting every demand, it comes from returning to what’s real for me.

Pulling my attention inward isn’t avoidance. It’s learning to sit at the center of the chaos and find the calm at the center of the storm. Good decisions rarely come from pressure or hurry. When I let the sediment settle, I can see again. I can ask better questions. I can choose the next step that aligns with the life I’m trying to cultivate.

The real game‑changer for me has been self‑authoring. I’ve been journaling for more than thirty years. Every so often I flip back through old pages and meet the person I was – confused, hopeful, overwhelmed, trying. Through all of it, I can trace the thread of who I’ve been becoming. Not finished. Never finished. But moving, shifting, growing in ways I couldn’t see at the time.

That’s the heart of unfinishedness for me:

I don’t have to be fully formed to take the next honest step.

I just have to be here.

If journaling isn’t your practice, what is?

How do you reflect on where you are, who you are, where you’re going, who you want to become? What helps you clear the fog enough to see the next small step?

Whatever your practice looks like, may it help you return to yourself.

May it help you remember that being unfinished is not a flaw, it’s the natural shape of a human life.

Until next time, take what’s useful; leave the rest on the porch.