The Path That Finds You

M Mehran

There’s a word the dictionary defines simply as to move without a fixed course. But wander is more than drifting. It’s a calling, a pull of curiosity, a rebellion against straight lines and strict maps.

For me, wander began on a quiet Tuesday.


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The Departure

I was twenty-two, clutching a one-way ticket to Lisbon, terrified and exhilarated at once. Friends called me reckless, my parents called me lost, but inside I knew I wasn’t running away. I was running toward something—even if I didn’t know what it was.

I had no itinerary, only a backpack stuffed with clothes and a notebook that still smelled like the store where I bought it. My plan was simple: wander.


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First Steps in a Foreign Street

Lisbon welcomed me with cobblestone streets and tram bells. I wandered without Google Maps, letting instinct guide me. The city unfolded like a story: tiled walls painted in blue, laundry swaying from balconies, the scent of roasted chestnuts curling through the air.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t rushing anywhere. I wasn’t checking off tasks. I was simply there, breathing in the moment. Wandering stripped away my need for purpose and replaced it with wonder.


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The People of Wander

In Porto, I shared a hostel bunk with a Canadian artist who carried sketchbooks instead of cameras. She told me, “When you wander, you don’t just see—you feel.” I nodded, not fully understanding until later.

In Seville, I met a retired schoolteacher from Japan who had decided, at seventy, to wander the world alone. She said, “Life waited for me to finish raising children, caring for parents, working jobs. Now it’s my turn to see what else is out there.”

Each person I met was a mirror reflecting back possibilities. Wandering wasn’t just about places. It was about people who reminded me that life can be shaped in infinite ways.


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Lost and Found

Of course, wandering isn’t always magical. One night in Granada, I got lost trying to find my hostel. My phone had died, the streets twisted like a labyrinth, and panic clawed at my chest.

But then, I stumbled into a plaza where flamenco dancers were performing. The music cracked through the air like fire, and the rhythm made my fear dissolve. A kind stranger noticed my confusion, walked me back to my hostel, and left without asking for thanks.

That night, I realized: wandering doesn’t mean you’ll never be lost. It means trusting that even in being lost, you might find something unexpected—beauty, kindness, or a story worth telling.


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The Silence of Mountains

Weeks later, I wandered into the Pyrenees, where villages clung to cliffs and silence stretched wider than any city street. Hiking alone, I felt the weight of solitude press against me. But instead of loneliness, it brought clarity.

The mountains didn’t care about my ambitions or failures. They simply existed, vast and patient. As I walked through them, I began to understand that wandering isn’t aimless. It’s listening—to places, to people, to yourself.


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The Notebook Speaks

By the time I reached Paris, my notebook was swollen with ink. Pages filled with crooked sketches, overheard conversations, names of strangers, and fragments of thoughts I didn’t know I carried.

One line I scribbled on a rainy afternoon still lingers with me: Wandering is not about escaping life; it’s about letting life catch up to you.

Reading those words, I felt like I had uncovered a truth I didn’t know was inside me.


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Returning Home

Months later, I returned home with my backpack worn and my shoes nearly falling apart. Friends asked, “So, what did you find?”

I smiled, because there wasn’t a single answer. I didn’t return with riches or a grand plan. What I brought back was subtler: the ability to look at ordinary streets and see them with the same wonder as Lisbon. To sit in silence and not fear it. To understand that wandering isn’t about the destination—it’s about the shift inside you.


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The Ongoing Wander

Now, even when I’m not traveling, I wander. Through bookstores, through unfamiliar neighborhoods, through conversations with strangers. I’ve learned wandering doesn’t require a passport. It requires curiosity.

Sometimes I think of the people I met—the artist sketching cobblestones, the teacher chasing long-delayed dreams, the dancer spinning fire into the night. Their stories walk with me, reminding me that life is richer when you let yourself step off the straight road.


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Closing Reflection

We live in a world obsessed with direction, with goals and milestones. But wander asks us to pause, to step sideways, to allow detours. To discover that the most meaningful parts of life are rarely on the main road.

To wander is to give yourself permission to not know, to stumble, to get lost—and in doing so, to find beauty you didn’t even know you were searching for.

And maybe that’s the real secret: wandering doesn’t change the world, but it changes the way you see it.