Do Something.

I wake each day to the song of an alarm clock and to the hush of morning light spilling through curtains I chose.
There is no rush, There is nowhere in a hurry she goes.
The applications go out like arrows into fog—some fall short, others vanish. None have returned.
Still, I make music. I write words that weren’t there before. I care for my people.
And surely, that must be something.
The world praises motion—titles, paychecks, productivity you can print out.
But I’ve chosen something quieter. I’ve signed up for courses. I’m adding tools to my belt.
I’m learning while the world is watching for results.
Because waiting doesn’t mean wasting. Waiting can be a kind of becoming.
It's what I tell myself.
Soon, I’ll take the wheel—learn the roads, earn my license, move freer through the world.
But even now, even in this pause,
I am not stalled.
I am shifting gears.
I am doing something.