so, where are we going?

a meditation on the importance of intention and direction in relationships

I’ve been thinking a lot about ships lately — how they’re meant to carry us somewhere. How they aren’t just structures floating for the sake of floating, but vessels. Made to move. Made to navigate. Made to arrive. They call it a relation-ship for a reason. A relation is how two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected. A ship is meant to carry something, a vessel to move people forward.

I’ve been thinking about how many people stay tethered to others out of routine, out of nostalgia, out of trauma bonding. Healing requires movement. Revelation requires expansion. And true, soulful, whole relation requires intention. We are meant to be on a journey somewhere. To rise together, to be a mirror, to break cycles, to learn and unlearn the thoughts and beliefs we hold. To experience life. Every interaction is either an invitation to grow or a weight that keeps us repeating the same old script.

So with current or new relationships, start asking yourself: Where are we going? What are we building? How are we becoming better? And if there’s no fruit, no forward momentum, no mutual honoring of each other’s process, then maybe it’s time to disembark. Because a ship without direction will always drift.

Some of the relationships we find ourselves in — platonic, romantic, familial — are more like anchored boats. Beautiful on the outside, full of memory, comfort, and nostalgia. But they haven’t moved in years. They’re docked in the same harbor of familiar conversations, unspoken restrictions, a lack of reciprocity, and an undercurrent of unspoken expectation. We keep stepping on board, hoping the wind will come. But deep down, we know: this ship is not going anywhere.

I’ve stayed in friendships that only survived off history, not presence. Kept texting people who don’t ask real questions. Replied out of habit, not authentic desire. I’ve loved family in ways that silenced myself — sitting at tables where connection was currency I paid for with my peace. I’ve entertained romantic potential that had no direction, no substance, just chemistry and chaos.

And eventually, I stopped to ask myself: so, where are we going?

Sometimes we don’t ask this question enough, or as often. Instead, we romanticize longevity. We mistake consistency for alignment. We call it loyalty when it’s fear — fear of letting go, fear that if we release the ship, we’ll drift. But what we forget is that staying in the wrong vessel is the surest way to delay our destination. Some relationships are lifeboats. They saved you when you were drowning. And that’s sacred. However, lifeboats aren’t meant for crossing oceans. Some relationships are cruise ships — all pleasure, no purpose. And some are sailboats, but you’re the only one catching the wind. Doing all the rowing. No map, no co-captain, just exhaustion disguised as devotion.

Love is directional. It may not always have a five-year plan, but it has presence. It has movement. It asks questions. It holds space. It builds. It flows. It’s intentional. It reflects to you the ways you’ve grown and makes room for the places you still ache.

And now, I routinely check in with myself concerning the relationships in my life. I ask: Is this relationship taking me deeper into who I am? Or further from the person I’m becoming? Does this connection invite me to rest or perform? To expand or shrink? And more than anything, does this ship sail toward healing, truth, reciprocity, and love? Or is it just… there? And if it’s just there, I’m okay with sailing on without them.

I’m not in the business of staying on ships that aren’t headed anywhere. I won’t trade my peace for the illusion of proximity. And I certainly won’t stay on a vessel where I’m treated like cargo instead of a co-captain.

So, before you set sail, ask: Is there life here? Is there mutual direction? Are we evolving or just existing together? Because a relationship is a journey, and you deserve to go somewhere wholesome and peaceful.