We speak of destiny as though it were somewhere far ahead of us, forever running, forever to be chased. But what if destiny is simply the future arriving? A point in time that eventually meets us because of what we have become.
And if we grow, are we not seeds? If we are seeds, were we not planted—at a particular place, in a particular moment—for a particular purpose?
Nature seems to whisper the same lesson: a seed, rightly planted, does not search for fruit. It cultivates roots. And in time, the fruit emerges from within. No one hangs a fruit upon a tree; no one ties a seed to its branches. Growth reveals what was already possible.
Perhaps illusion is not believing in the future. Perhaps illusion is expecting a future we are not intentionally cultivating in the present.
So then, the question is not: What destiny awaits me?
The question is: What am I growing into, and does my daily life resemble the seed of that future?