Running

I've been running on this cross-country journey, not really knowing where I was going. Running, because it's good for me to exercise and I figured that my legs would take me somewhere. Maybe I would follow the flow of the river or maybe I would see a fork in the road and because I was running I wouldn't have time to think - I'd just pick which way to go. Maybe I've been waiting for the wind to blow a certain way as a hint to where I should go. But now I know where I want to go, and even though I'm not in charge of the path I take to get me there I have a sense of direction. And now I want to run even faster to see this other side of the rainbow - to experience all that I've been wishing for, but the faster I run, the farther away I get from all that is common to me. And I'm scared to be far because I like where I've been - I like the people that were there and the nest I started to build, and moving further away means starting all over. You would think that nomads don't get attached to things when they know they will pick up and leave, but you have to take root somewhere, even if it is for one day. So will my run turn into a jog? Time can not be hurried and it's important to spend the time now with the ones we soon will leave. But I also have to stretch and take time to prepare me for the new adventures ahead. Sigh, the paradox of running. Seems like even when you run towards something you are running away from something else.