Timing and direction matter more than speed and distance
I never knew my Papaw Marshall. He passed away when I was about 18 months old. But I’ve got his pocket watch and his old compass sitting in a box on my bedside table. Sometimes I take them out and look at them. The old brass watch is right only twice a day now, and honestly that isn’t much worse than me before my coffee. That compass still points north every time I hold it in my hand. Worn brass makes me wonder how often he glanced at that watch to see how long until dinner. Where was he trying to go when he pointed the compass needle towards north?
Those two little heirlooms remind me that direction and timing matter more than speed. Going the right way at the wrong time has gotten me just as lost as going the wrong way at the right time.
I also like to think that the destination matters less than which road you take to get there. The miles traveled and the hours logged don’t mean as much as the care you take with every step and the people you meet along the way.