I used to think that some things happened at the wrong time.

Too early. Too late. Not according to plan. Sometimes I wondered why certain things could not have happened differently, or why particular chapters of life arrived when I was not ready for them.

Life has gradually taught me to see time differently.

Perhaps there is no perfectly “right” time against which every moment of our lives should be measured. Things happen within circumstances much larger than what we can see at that moment. Some bring joy. Some bring disappointment, separation, uncertainty, or pain. And often, their meaning only becomes visible much later.

I am still learning this.

I am learning to welcome happiness without assuming it will last forever, and to experience difficult times without believing that they define the whole journey. Acceptance does not mean that everything that happens is good, fair, or easy. It simply means recognising that what has already happened has become part of the waters through which I have travelled.

Perhaps life is a little like sailing.

We cannot command the wind. We cannot flatten the waves or ask the tide to wait until we feel ready. Sometimes we sail with confidence beneath a bright sky; sometimes we move slowly through waters we never intended to enter.

But we can continue to hold the sail.

We can learn from the wind, adjust our direction, and give meaning to the distance we have travelled.

Looking at this little drawing, I think that is what I see now: two small travellers, each on their own vessel, reaching towards one another while continuing to sail.

Not every journey needs to arrive at the same shore to have meaning.

And perhaps that is one of the lessons life continues to teach me: do not blame the timing. Live the journey, learn from its waters, and allow meaning to emerge along the way.

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Poem — The Time of the Tide

I will not blame the tide
for coming when it came,
nor ask the wind
why it carried me this way.

Some waters brought me laughter,
some taught me how to grieve,
and some remained unanswered
long after I had sailed through them.

I cannot command the ocean
to follow the map inside my hands.

So I am learning
to loosen my grip on when,
to stop asking life
to arrive exactly as I planned.

There are journeys made together,
and journeys where paths divide.
There are shores we reach,
and shores we only see from afar.

Still, every wave leaves something—
a lesson,
a memory,
a different way of seeing.

And if I cannot choose the wind,
I can still raise my sail.

I can give meaning
to the waters behind me
and keep travelling
towards whatever waits beyond the horizon.

— Geilstonia