I keep thinking about how, for years, I waited for the 'big reveal' of my life — like something was coming that would finally explain everything. Turns out, it was just more life. The future-self I imagined was always so much further along than I ever felt I was 'allowed' to be at any given moment. Now I understand there's no arrival point, only a continuous revealing of what's already here. I used to think I was writing a story, carefully crafting each chapter toward some grand finale. Now I see that I'm just watering a garden, hoping something beautiful grows without demanding to know what it will be.