Dodo Seed

It didn’t feel like the right time.

Not yet.

There was always something slightly off.

The timing.

The setting.

The way things were.

So you waited.

For things to settle.

For it to feel clearer.

For a moment that made more sense.

And it seemed reasonable.

There’s no point rushing something that matters.

Better to wait until it feels right.

Until everything aligns the way it should.

So you gave it time.

Days passed.

Then more.

The thought stayed with you,

but the moment never fully arrived.

There were chances.

Small openings where it could have happened.

But they didn’t feel perfect.

So you let them pass.

It didn’t feel like losing anything at the time.

Just postponing.

Just waiting a little longer.

But slowly, without noticing,

the distance grew.

Not between you and something specific —

but between the idea

and the moment it could have existed in.

And at some point,

you stop waiting.

Not because it finally happened.

But because it no longer feels close enough to reach.

It’s strange how something can stay with you for so long

without ever becoming real.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you were waiting

for a version of the moment

that never actually comes.

Is It Safe To Travel Home For The Holidays?

There’s something about the idea of going home that feels simple.

Almost automatic.

Like it’s something you don’t question — just something you do.

The holidays arrive, and with them comes that quiet pull.
Familiar places. Familiar people. The version of yourself that exists only there.

And for a long time, that was enough.

You didn’t think about the distance.
Or the timing.
Or whether it made sense.

You just went.

But sometimes, that simplicity disappears.

And suddenly, something that always felt certain starts to feel… complicated.

Not because you don’t want to go.

But because you’re not sure if you should.

You start thinking about things you never really considered before.
Where you’ve been. Who you’ve been around. What you might carry without knowing.

You think about the people waiting for you.
Not just the idea of them — but their reality.

Their age. Their health. Their vulnerability.

And the question shifts.

It’s no longer just:
“Can I go home?”

It becomes:
“What does going home mean right now?”

Because home isn’t just a place.

It’s people.

And sometimes, caring about people means doing something that feels wrong in the moment.

Like staying away.

Even when everything in you wants to show up.

There’s a strange kind of distance that forms then.

Not physical — but emotional.

You find yourself trying to recreate something that usually happens without effort.
A call instead of a conversation.
A screen instead of a room.
A moment that feels almost right, but not quite the same.

And yet, the intention behind it feels stronger than ever.

Because choosing not to go doesn’t mean you care less.

If anything, it means you’ve thought about it more.

Maybe that’s the part no one really talks about.

That sometimes, doing the right thing doesn’t feel right at all.

It feels like absence.
Like missing something you’re supposed to be part of.

But maybe going home was never just about being there physically.

Maybe it was always about connection.

And sometimes, connection looks different.

Quieter.
More distant.
Less visible.

But still there.

Still real.

Still enough.