Candid Conversations Newsletter: The Edge of Time – A Warrior in a Garden

Look Where You’re Going, Not Where You’re Looking 

I was on a flight once, seated beside an elderly man and his wife. As so often happens in my encounters, a conversation ignited. He spoke of his life, his family, and his long career on Wall Street, where he had worked as an accountant for many years. During our conversation, he paused and said,

“Young man, you sound like an intelligent guy, but let me tell you something—look where you’re going, not where you’re looking.”

He repeated it three times. By the third, his voice had risen to a commanding tone, loud enough for nearly everyone around us to hear.

Eighteen years later, I still hold those words close. They remind me that distractions are abundant, and without focus and a strong foundation, it’s easy to be swept away by the noise of the times. 

At its core, his message is about focus, discipline, and staying anchored in what truly matters. The past, fleeting temptations, and momentary doubts all have the power to cloud our vision if we let them. But true focus isn’t just about looking—it’s about seeing with purpose. 

Now, I look beyond the horizon—toward something just out of reach, yet ever present—the pursuit of mastery. To stand the test of time and effort.

To be a steward in service, tending a seed through every season and stage. Cultivating, pruning, strengthening.  Cutting away what does not bear fruit so that which remains may flourish. 

The Horizon and the Path to Mastery 🏔️🚶🏽‍♂️

Are you going or coming?

Both. Going toward my destiny while coming into my own awareness. 

The horizon does not move, though I swear it shifts as I step forward. Perhaps that is the trick of the edge—convincing us we approach the end, only to reveal another beginning. 

And so, I till the soil again, hands rough from yesterday’s labor, heart tender with tomorrow’s hope. What sprouts is never quite what I pictured, but always what was needed.

Seasons become silent mentors. They teach me that mastery is not domination but devotion—a return to the same field with new eyes, a willingness to lose what withers and cherish what blooms, to kneel low enough to hear the whispers beneath the roots. 

For there is something sacred about remaining.

Remaining long enough to witness the unseen work.
Remaining long enough to become part of the rhythm.
Remaining long enough to know that tending the garden was never about the harvest, but about becoming someone who could love the land through drought and downpour alike.

And so, here at the edge of time, I do not wait for arrival.

I work.
I rest.
I prune.
I sow. 

Going.
Coming.
Becoming.

Resilience: The Quiet Rebellion 🔥💡

Resiliency is all of these things—an attribute, a skill, a state of mind. It is both innate and cultivated, a quality some possess naturally but all can develop. It is the ability to endure, adapt, and transform in the face of adversity—not by ignoring struggle, but by engaging with it in a way that fosters strength rather than destruction. 

To see beyond sight is to recognize that the present moment does not define the entirety of one’s existence. It is to acknowledge that reality is not solely what is visible, but also what is possible. 

Resilience is deeply tied to belief—the belief that what is unseen can still be real, that change is attainable, and that hope is not foolishness but a necessary foundation for progress.

Letting go of what once served us—especially when it provided comfort—can feel destabilizing. Yet, true resilience requires embracing evolution. It is not just about weathering storms but learning to navigate them with wisdom.

In times such as these, despair often feels like the only rational response. The world presents us with a relentless onslaught of uncertainty, injustice, and grief.

But resilience is the quiet rebellion against that despair. It does not deny hardship but refuses to be consumed by it. It allows for sorrow without surrender. 

Resiliency at its core is, the choice to believe in a future worth striving for, even when all evidence suggests otherwise.

And so, I go.
And so, I come.
And so, I become.

Here's a Thought 🌿🔐

What if the journey itself is the destination, and mastery is not a summit to reach but a path to walk—again and again—until it becomes part of you?

I ask myself:

• What am I willing to carry, and what must I finally set down?

• How much of what I seek is already here, quietly waiting for me to notice?

And when the winds rise and the tides shift once more, will I remember that even the waves are teachers—shaping me with each crest and crash, smoothing the jagged edges I once thought I needed to keep? 

This is the stewardship I accept:

To meet each moment as it arrives.
To tend what I can.
To release what I must.

To stand, steady and whole, at the edge—not as one who fears the unknown, but as one who finally understands that the horizon was never meant to be reached. It was meant to be followed.

Miyamoto Musashi wrote, “You can only fight the way you practice.” The warrior does not wait for battle to begin training, just as the gardener does not wait for the harvest to start tending the soil. Both know that resilience is built long before it is tested.

A warrior in a garden does not seek conflict, but does not fear it either. A gardener with a warrior’s heart does not control nature, nor do they neglect their duty.

Until next time—stay present, stay steady, and keep tending the garden.

If this edition spoke to you, forward it to a friend who needs it. 📧📩