Life is a journey. As I grow older, I realise that the things I have achieved, my accomplishments, are less important than the route to achieving them. This is hard to see when you’re young, when every hurdle seems to matter, and you feel as if failing that exam or driving test or first date with someone you fancy, will destroy your future happiness. But it doesn’t. Not really. Jumping hurdles, meeting those targets, often makes life easier but in the end, it’s rare to not be given a second chance. If you mess up the first time, there is usually another route to that goal, and frankly, the goal is probably less important than you think.

I have been reminded of this as I read Genesis 12:1-3. Abraham—the religious father of Christians and Jews and Muslims—is told to leave his land and family and home, and set out for a new land. He is promised certain things, like that he will sire a great nation, and be a blessing to all nations, but really, as far as I can see, it is the journey that matters. Abraham never saw the great nation, he only had two sons. Nor did he personally seem to be much of a blessing to other nations, as he mostly seemed to bring war or trouble to those he encountered. But Genesis talks a lot about his journey, about times he paused to worship God, about the mistakes/lies that happened along the way, and the challenges he faced. It was the journey, and how he travelled, that mattered.

For me, this is very pertinent. I have just been accepted by Edinburgh University to study for a PhD in Old Testament and Hebrew Studies. It has been a journey to get here, and I realise that it is the journey that matters going forward. I don’t know if I will manage to achieve a PhD, I certainly do not feel as clever as all the hugely intellectual academics that I meet. But probably, that doesn’t matter as much as how I live the next few years—what I will learn, and how I share that knowledge, and the people I will meet and how we affect each other.

The journey to get here has not always been smooth, and I certainly never saw a final goal. When I was younger, different aims seemed very important—I needed to find a boyfriend, or a husband, or to have children, or to get that job, to buy that house—and whenever things didn’t go to plan, it felt huge. Then when I had the brain tumour, I learned to live one day at a time, to focus on the present, to live today really well (because there might not be a tomorrow). This was a good lesson. It doesn’t mean not planning, because a journey needs preparation, but it means realising that how  I travel is more important than whether I get there—because if I don’t manage to reach the place I am aiming for, I will be in a different place, and it might be better.

As we get older, our hopes and dreams perhaps become more focussed on other people. The future might begin to look a bit darker, there may not be as many things we are hoping to achieve. But the journey is still important. Even when you suspect there might not be a tomorrow, today still matters.

I don’t know whether Abraham would have been pleased with the journey he travelled, and whether he would have lived some days differently if he could go back in time. But he still set out on the journey, trusting that his God would lead him to where he was meant to be going. And I think that maybe, that is the best way for us to live too. It’s fun to have goals, and maybe we need them to motivate ourselves through the obstacle course that is life. Bit in the end, it is the way we travel that is important, not the targets that we reach.

Thank you for reading. Travel well today.

Love, Anne x