Roaming Towards Myself

The mystery from my own life I’ve never solved is how some decisions seem to arrive long before you understand them.
For years, I had little thoughts that didn’t make much sense at the time. I wanted old places. I wanted travel. I wanted history, stories, graveyards, stone houses, strange corners of the world, and a life that felt more like mine.
At the time, they were just thoughts.
Then one by one, they started joining together.
I sold my house. I started travelling. I began writing. I researched my convict ancestor. I found myself wandering through castles, churches, cemeteries and villages, feeling strangely at home in places I had never been before.
Now I’m planning a life in France, looking at old houses and imagining rooms full of stories.
The mystery is not whether I changed my life.
I know I did that.
The mystery is whether some part of me knew all along where I was meant to go.
Maybe life gives clues before it gives answers.
Maybe we only understand the map after we have already started walking.