In The Unmarked Path, I drop myself into unfamiliar places in nature with a single challenge: find my way home without using a map. This simple act has turned me into a wanderer-drifting through both urban and rural landscapes, always seeking the quiet interruptions of nature.
Some days, its beauty is everywhere: light slipping through leaves, moss reclaiming forgotten stone, birdsong folding into the noise of a city street. Other days, it feels absent-hidden beneath the weight of mental clutter or the rush of stress. Over time, l've come to see this search as a mirror of my inner world. When my mind is tangled, I overlook what's right in front of me. When I'm still, I begin to notice the fleeting, often-overlooked details that make the world feel alive.
To reconnect, I intentionally step away. I wander slowly, quietly. And in those unhurried moments, I begin to see again—to really see. This practice has become a way of returning, not just to place, but to myself.