lost

stand still. the trees ahead and bushes beside you
are not lost. wherever you are is called Here,
and you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
must ask permission to know it and be known.
the forest breathes. listen.
it answers,
I have made this place around you.
if you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
no two trees are the same to Raven.
no two branches are the same to Wren.
if what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
you are surely lost. stand still. the forest knows
where you are. you must let it find you.

- David Wagoner (1926–2021), an American poet, novelist, and educator renowned for his vivid portrayals of the Pacific Northwest's natural landscapes. 

At 35, I expected to feel more certain—more “arrived.” But instead, I often feel like I’m wandering without a clear path, unsure if I’ve taken the right turns, or if I’m even meant to know where I’m going yet. 

The line “Wherever you are is called Here” hits deep. This poem reminds me that being lost isn’t always about failure or disorientation. Sometimes, it's about being asked to stop, to stand still, and to reconnect with what’s around and within me. It reminds me that this moment, however uncertain, is still worthy of presence. That I don’t need to rush toward some imagined version of “figured out” in order to be whole or worthy of peace.