“My destination is no longer a place, rather a new way of seeing.” –– Marcel Proust
Recently I had to decide whether to take advantage of two opportunities for trips that have come my way. One was to Machu Picchu this summer; the other, New Zealand early next spring. These were to be group trips and both would be with people whom I know and have great affection for. I am sure the trips would be lovely in many ways –– stimulating, challenging, life-affirming.
I said no to both –– and not because of the money, even though they were not cheap excursions. It was something more. It was my own lack of clarity as to whether these trips were right for me at this time.
QUESTION OF MISSING
While I was still considering these options, my brother stopped by my house. I ran through my thinking with him about the opportunities the trips offered and the cost, not only in terms of money but also what they would take in terms of energy and time. And going to New Zealand would mean sharing a room, something I am not fond of doing when it comes to lodging. Then there is my own unease with so much political instability globally, and, sadly, in this country as well. Was this the time to travel abroad?
I also spoke about how I feel as I age, that somehow I have missed out on life, that my current interest in traveling to these faraway places was a way to capture opportunities I missed when I was younger.
THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER
First, my brother pointed out that I have traveled more than many, which is true, and that I haven’t missed out on life, as I claimed. Of course, I have lived. Throughout my life I have pursued and embraced a variety of different experiences, following my interests –– driving down the coast of California, watching whales breech the waters off the coast of Alaska, hiking in the UK, kayaking down the Delaware River and so many other waterways, wandering through the states of New England, completing a solo fast in Death Valley, and more.
Yet, for some reason, when I look back over my life, I just see me working. But even that was not drudgery. I was able to build a career that used my talents for writing and relationship building and, despite the normal upsets and mistakes that any of us make, I was successful. Did I make a lot of money? No. But I made enough to purchase a home, meet my everyday needs, and save for a gainfully employed-free life that I am now living.
NO ANSWER
But my brother noting that I have “lived” was not giving me the answer I needed about whether I should go on either of these trips. One question of his did, however, address my indecision. Jack asked why I wanted to go to Machu Picchu. I did not have an immediate response.
“There’s your answer,” said Jack.
To that answer I add: in truth I am a homebody. I am an introvert. I enjoy my company and am happy to spend time alone. I always have been.
LETTING THE WATERS CLEAR
In years past, I did not consider a lack of clarity as an answer regarding what I was to do, and often would rush in, acting, just to remove the discomfort I felt when I had trouble deciding.
Now I am learning that those are the times to do nothing, to wait for the waters to clear, so to speak, so I can better discern what direction I am to take.
The morning after I wrote to the leader of the New Zealand trip that I would not be joining her group, something I had been putting off, I woke up to find these words by the poet David Whyte in my inbox:
“Reluctance lets us know that there is a ground of truth onto which we have yet to alight and that we do not yet know how to alight upon it and most especially, at this stage, how to step off from the place we will eventually light upon …”1
WHAT RELUCTANCE SAYS
I am aware that reluctance can be seen as the inability to make a decision, and I respect that understanding. But I think reluctance, which is what I was feeling when trying to decide if either of the trips I was considering were right for me, is something different.
As the writer Cheryl Murfin the leader of my pilgrimage to Scotland last year wrote to me:
“The heart is our perfect guide. When something comes along that we are meant to do, it opens wide and dives in. When it is wary, it is right to … listen.”2
Her words, as true with Whyte’s, were the confirmation that I needed, that saying no to these trips was the right decision for me at this time.
A HEART’S CALL
The past six months have been a trying time. There was a sudden death in the family, leaving a void along with the responsibilities that must be picked up at such times. Then there were a series of commitments made prior to my loved one’s death that I needed to honor. And I had other obligations that frankly have left me tired.
Running off to some adventure is not what I need to do right now. I think that is what my reluctance to make a decision was telling me. Instead, I need to rest, tend the home fires, write my words, care for my cat, lend a hand where needed. I need to continue to listen to the call of my heart, wait to clearly see the “ground of truth” upon which I am to step.
FOR REFLECTION: When you lack clarity, are you able to patiently wait until the “waters clear”? Are you able to rest in the incertainty? What does that tell you?
1 David Whyte, Substack, May 10, 2026.
2 Cheryl Murfin, personal correspondence, May 10, 2026
Top image: Pixabay/LoggaWiggler
Midtext image: Pixabay/holgerheinze0
Side image: Pixabay/Avelino Calvar Martinez
