"I hope you find what you're looking for."

The words float across the table, wrapped in good intentions but missing the mark entirely. What they don't understand is that I'm not looking for anything - I've already found it.

The "it" is the journey itself, the continuous unfolding of new neural pathways - the deliberate expansion of consciousness through chosen change.

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." - Anaïs Nin

Being xenacious - filled with a yearning for change - is often misunderstood as restlessness or an inability to settle. But there's a profound difference between running from something and consciously running toward evolution.

It's the difference between a scattered leaf in the wind and an aspen grove - appearing chaotic on the surface but operating from an intricate, interconnected system of roots.

I learned this truth the hard way during two years when I wrestled with practical considerations - thinking I should keep my house, rent it out, do the "smart" thing.

Everything within me called for movement, but I was still figuring out which pillars of stability I truly needed.

When I was unable to make the move two years in a row, I felt my life force being slowly drained. Others saw depression and worried something was wrong with me, but the only thing wrong was the misalignment between my inner knowing and my external choices.

The plans to move were there, but I had deeper work to do - understanding the parts of me that clung to having a house as a safety net, facing my fears about becoming effectively homeless.

Ironically, it was the overwhelming depression of staying put that finally showed me I was stronger than I knew. I could live without a home base. I could handle more uncertainty than I'd given myself credit for.

The heaviness began lifting when I stopped fighting this truth about myself - when I finally understood that my need for expansion was greater than my need for the conventional security of owning a home.

We underestimate this relationship - how depression can be a brilliant indicator that we're not moving in the direction of chosen change. It's not always a disorder to be medicated away; sometimes it's simply our inner compass screaming that we've stopped expanding when we're meant to grow.

This expansion isn't about external movement, though that's often its visible expression. It's about the internal courage to continuously choose growth over comfort, to deliberately seek the edges of your known world and push gently against them.

"A harmless man is not a good man. A good man is a very dangerous man who has that under voluntary control." - Jordan Peterson

The foundation for this chosen change isn't built on shifting sand. It's rooted in brutal self-honesty and a disciplined relationship with oneself.

Like a dangerous man who knows his shadow and keeps it controlled so as not to inflict harm on others, those of us who could be described as being xenacious have learned to harness our yearning for transformation and execute it within a container of practical goals and the framework of our values.

It's brilliantly stable. It's just not obvious to those looking from the outside.

True xenacious spirits aren't passive wanderers; we're powerful forces who have learned to channel our innate drive for change into conscious evolution.

My stability doesn't come from a fixed address or a thirty-year career plan. It comes from knowing exactly who I am and what I value.

I have my non-negotiables - financial security, connection to nature, my animals, the plants that make any space feel like home. Beyond that? I'm flexible. I'm free.

"I don't like that man. I must get to know him better." - Abraham Lincoln

I used to defend my choices. I'd get fired up when people projected their fears onto my path.

Now? I (try my best to) just smile.

I've learned that the brain is a filtering machine, processing reality through our beliefs and biases.

When someone suggests I must be "looking for something," they're just revealing their own filter - one that sees change as a means to an end rather than a way of being.

We see the world not as it is, but as we are.

Those who fear change will see my choices as running away.

Those trapped in conventional ideas of security will see instability where I see freedom.

Those who've never questioned their programming will see confusion where I see clarity.

Their reactions tell me more about their relationship with change than about my path.

Understanding how the brain filters reality through our accumulated beliefs brings profound compassion. There's an innocence to others' projections - they literally cannot see beyond their own cognitive framework.

Once you understand this, there's no need for upset or judgment. Their confusion about your path becomes as natural as a fish being confused by your desire to walk on land.

One of my core values, which helps navigate both my own choices and my understanding of others, is to stay away from absolutes wherever possible.

This principle opens up a world of nuance, allowing space for seemingly contradictory truths to coexist. It's what allows me to embrace both change and stability, to understand both the oak and the aspen way of being. It's the and, not the or.

Some people are meant to be oaks, deeply rooted in one spot. Others of us are aspens, spreading wide, creating new growth in unexpected places. Neither is better. They're just different expressions of being alive.

For thirty-five years, I saw my xenacious nature as a flaw.

I tried to squeeze myself into the container that society labels as stability. You know the one - same job, same house, same routine.

But here's what I've discovered: true stability isn't about keeping your external world unchanged. It's about maintaining a solid internal compass while navigating constant change.

I'm not a restless soul. I'm actually very centered. I've just chosen to be an explorer of consciousness, pushing into new territories of experience and understanding.

Every move, every career pivot, every relationship becomes another chance to push the boundaries of what's familiar. To make more of the unknown known.

This isn't about running away or searching for something missing. It's about conscious expansion. Chosen change. Making your net wider, deliberately.

For those who share this xenacious spirit and have felt it as a flaw - consider this your permission slip. Your yearning for change isn't a defect to be fixed but a compass pointing toward growth. The key is not in finding what you're looking for, but in remaining curious about what else there is to discover.

After all, nature never gives us the same sunset twice. Perhaps being xenacious is simply our most natural state of being.