Patterns ~

​If you asked me to count to 100, the numbers wouldn’t line up neatly.
They flow. They arc left and right, forward and back, like a treasure map.
I never thought much of it until a few years ago, when I felt the nudge to write it out.
Seeing it on paper made me pause.
Was something in my brain different?
Was this meaning… something?
I showed a few people, quietly measuring how strange it might seem. Wondering whether it was a function or a flaw.
It led me to notice how my mind moves.
It loops. It traces.
It doesn’t move in straight lines; it moves in patterns.
And yet, I am also grounded in logic and reason.
Now I find myself less interested in explaining it…
and more willing to simply watch,
the world as it speaks to me in patterns. 
Because it isn’t just in numbers.
I see them in people. I see them in nature. 
I always have.
I learned, years ago, to read subtle shifts, tone, timing, and the seasons of a mood.
Not because I wanted to, but because I needed to.
Pattern became protection.
If I could map it, I could survive it.
If I could anticipate it, I could soften the impact.
So I did.
And I got very good at it.
But that part of me never turned off.
She’s still here,
still scanning,
still trying to complete what feels incomplete.
Sometimes it shows up as a person or situation I can’t quite let go of,
not because of any significance,
but because of the loop it left behind.
An incomplete rhythm.
A pattern without resolution.
And my mind, in all its brilliance, wants to close it.
But what I’m learning, as I live more Untucked,
is that not every pattern is mine to finish.
Some are meant to be witnessed…
and released.
I’m still learning how to let logic gently remind the loop:
this isn’t yours to carry.
It’s harder than it sounds.
And then there are the quieter patterns
unexpected, almost sacred.
The way light touches the sauna window, forming the same shape each time. Two hands meeting, like a heart.
A slight shift, and it becomes a flower.
I could dismiss it.
Call it coincidence.
Call it nothing.
But it doesn’t feel like nothing.
It feels like a reminder
that my mind is as analytical as it is imaginative,
not just observant, but creative,
not just protective, but deeply attuned.
I don’t just see what is.
I see what could be formed from it.
I’m learning to hold this part of me with care.
Not silencing what sees so much,
but living alongside it.
Letting it notice, without asking it to solve.
Letting it feel, without asking it to carry.
Because I am no longer living a life where I need to survive by pattern.
I am living a life where I can choose presence.
And maybe the gift was never just in seeing the patterns.
Maybe the gift
is knowing I can step out of them.