I woke up this morning with a strong call to get practical.

A voice in my head was urging me to evaluate where I'm at, where I'm headed, and whether or not I'll make it.

It wanted plans. It was afraid of getting lost. It was pressing for safety and comfort.

This is the voice I'm up against.

So, in answer, another voice painted a picture of our situation.

I'm on a raft. I've cast off, leaving an island shore behind.

I'm without a paddle. I can't muscle my way forward.

But I do have sails. I just don't quite know how to use them yet.

And so I sit a hundred yards out, floating back and forth—a few yards closer to shore; a few yards further into deep waters. Sometimes the sails catch a favourable wind. Sometimes they flap without purpose.

This is where I should be, not back on shore.

With practice, attention and patience, I believe I can learn the winds and how to work my raft. In time, I'll know how far it can take me. Then I can point it towards the horizon.

For now, plans are a distraction. The only safe plan is diving off the side of the raft and scrambling to shore. It's not a good plan.

I need to focus on the sails.

Aimlessness is terrifying, but it's perfectly natural and acceptable for the moment. It doesn't yet matter where I'm going.

Would it be nice to skip the part where I learn to sail and am already halfway to my destination?

Sure, but let's be practical: first crawl, then walk, then run, then change the world.