There’s a specific kind of quiet that comes with that realization. It’s not loud panic, not at first. It’s more like the ground drops out from under something you didn’t realize you were standing on.

 

By Holly Herring

When I was little, I wandered.

Not in the philosophical sense. Not in the “finding myself” way people like to talk about later in life. I mean I physically wandered off into places I probably shouldn’t have been.

Little Holly was living on a farm in the Midwest, and there were parts of that land that felt like they were made just for her and parts that absolutely did not.

One day, Little Holly forgot all about the parts that weren’t made just for her.

There were three dogs with her at the start of that adventure—Tony, the hunting beagle, Corey, the sporty black Labrador, And Jessica, her scrappy, ex-stray farm mutt. They set out together like they had somewhere important to go, even though none of them knew exactly where that was.

That’s the thing about adventures when you’re small and your best friends are all dogs. The destination is rarely the point.

Eventually, Tony took off after some ducks. Corey did too. What started as a raucous foursome became just the two of them, Jessica and Little Holly, pushing deeper into tall grass that she wasn’t supposed to be in.

The grass grew higher than she was.

Little Holly couldn’t see ahead.
 She couldn’t see behind.
 All she could see was straight up into the sky.

So, she trusted Jessica.

Jessica had a nose that knew things. She moved with purpose; like she understood the land in a way Little Holly didn’t. If Jessica kept going, Little Holly kept going. That worked for a while.

Until it didn’t.

At some point, something changed. Jessica slowed down. She wasn’t leading the same way anymore. Little Holly stopped feeling like they were going somewhere and started feeling like they were just… lost.

Little Holly made a mental note to get Jessica’s super sniffer checked out once they found their way home.

There’s a specific kind of quiet that comes with that realization. It’s not loud panic, not at first. It’s more like the ground drops out from under something you didn’t realize you were standing on.

Little Holly looked around, but there was nothing familiar to see. Just sky above and walls of grass on every side.

Eventually, her stomach started to growl.

Little Holly missed her home.
 She missed her family.
 She missed fried chicken.

Jessica laid down first. Dropped into the grass like she suddenly ran out of gas. Little Holly followed her lead, laid her head on Jessica, and stared up at the clouds.

At some point, the clouds started looking like fried chicken.

They stayed there like that, Little Holly smacking on invisible fried chicken, Jessica resting, both of them not moving forward or back.

Just… stuck.

And then, from somewhere far off, a voice carried through the field.

“Holly!”

Her stepfather, Reggie.

It was distant, but it was clear.

Jessica’s head popped up immediately. Little Holly’s did too. That one sound changed everything. Suddenly, there was direction. They pushed up, forced their way through the tall grass, and moved toward the voice.

Toward home.

Grown-up Holly has thought about that day more than once.

Because grown up Holly got lost like that again, many times. Not in tall grass, but in life.

It looks like standing still without realizing it.
 It looks like moving, but without direction.
 It looks like trusting someone who suddenly doesn’t know where they’re going anymore.

And it feels a lot like only being able to see in one useless direction.

Over time, I started to notice something.

When things start to come back together, it’s not because everything is suddenly fixed. It’s because a few key pieces fall back into place.

A place to return to.
 A reason to move.
 A connection that calls my name.

Somewhere along the way, people started summarizing this idea. It’s often attributed to Immanuel Kant, sometimes to Alexander Chalmers.

The phrasing is simple:

Somewhere to be, something to do, and someone to love.

It sounds almost too simple. But Little Holly has laid in that grass before, unable to see where she was going, unsure how to get back, waiting for something to change.

And I’ve heard the voice that called me out of it.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes to stand up again and start moving.

Not because I suddenly know everything.

But because I know where to go next.

 

“You yourself must strive. The Buddhas only point the way.”

— Gautama Buddha 

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

Did you get goosebumps reading this? You may also like:

Just Breathe, Holly

In 21 Days I Lost My Marriage & My Job: Sitting with Being Human

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Holly Herring
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