The nudge you can’t explain

Two weeks after coming back from Aniwa, I had a dream about emptying my dresser. It was completely fine, functional, nothing wrong with it. But the next morning, without thinking, I emptied all my clothes into bags, dismantled the whole thing, and left it on the street.

Now my clothes are still sitting in boxes, and I’ve been in this strange in-between space. Tonight, it’s Friday. My phone is full of parties, invites, people checking in. Some I’m included in, some I’m not. But all I really wanted was to read.

I went to my library at home and pulled out a random book, hoping for something quiet. Then another one caught my eye—To Shake the Sleeping Self. I had found it earlier this year in one of my favorite parts of San Francisco, the Free Little Library. I’d started reading it once during a long work break in my car. That break stretched into two full hours. I remember feeling guilty for staying that long, but I couldn’t put it down.

Before I even opened it tonight, I got goosebumps. And the first line said:

“If discontent is your disease, travel is medicine.”

And suddenly, something made sense. The dresser. The boxes. The stillness. The restlessness. The quiet pull beneath it all.

I don’t know where I’m going. Only that I am.