The Roads That Lead Back to Me

A poem for the wanderers, the dreamers, and those who wonder if they’re on the right path. Sometimes, your purpose isn’t ahead of you — it’s waiting within you.

I have walked a thousand miles

in shoes made of uncertainty,

chasing a horizon

that kept moving when I blinked.

Everywhere I went,

I carried a version of myself

I didn’t yet understand —

part hope, part hesitation.

The world told me

to find my purpose,

as if it were buried treasure,

hidden under someone else’s dream.

But purpose is quieter than that.

It doesn’t shout.

It hums softly

in the things that make your heart rise —

the sound of your own laughter,

the peace in your small victories,

the courage it takes to start again.

I have failed enough times

to know that every ending

is just a bend in the map.

And even when I was lost,

I was still becoming.

Now I know—

the road isn’t meant to be straight.

It loops, it breaks, it bends

until one day

you realize you’ve come full circle

and you’re standing

where you began—

but stronger,

softer,

and finally awake.

Dreams aren’t destinations.

They’re directions.

And every one of them,

in some quiet way,

leads you back home.