Maybe I Don't Need A Bloody Plan

I keep trying to decide what everything is supposed to become.

A photo project becomes a portfolio. A small app becomes a business. A bike ride becomes content. A thought becomes a post that somehow needs a point.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Some things are allowed to begin simply because they feel interesting.

This morning I left the house before the sun properly showed up. No plan. No route worth talking about. Just cold air, empty roads and that strange feeling you get when everyone else seems to be asleep and the day still belongs to nobody.

I stopped a few times for photographs.

Nothing spectacular happened.

No mountain appeared. No magical deer walked into perfect light. I didn’t discover the meaning of life somewhere behind a Dutch cornfield.

But I noticed things.

Mist hanging between trees. A single light in a distant house. The sound of tyres on wet gravel. My own breath when I stopped moving.

That was enough.

I think I’ve spent too much time trying to turn every interest into something useful. Something that pays. Something that grows. Something I can explain when someone asks what the hell I’m doing.

And every time I do that, the thing gets heavier.

Photography becomes work.

Writing becomes content.

Building little apps becomes a strategy.

Even going outside starts needing a bloody purpose.

Maybe the better approach is embarrassingly simple.

Make the thing.

Take the photograph.

Write the stupid thought down.

Go somewhere because you want to see what is there.

And if, six months later, some of those random pieces connect into something bigger, great.

If they don’t, they still happened.

They were still part of my life.

I’m starting to think that might be enough of a plan.