A Long Drive Toward Something I Couldn’t Name

A few weeks ago, I flew down to Waco for my friend’s graduation.

From there, I drove to Memphis. Then to Virginia. And eventually, back home to Wayne, PA. Four states. Four cities. A map traced in movement—playlists, quiet highways, late-night gas station stops, and the steady rhythm of the road.

What began as a celebration turned into something more reflective. Somewhere between the turns and tolls, I started thinking about how easy it is to stay in motion without ever really arriving.

We live in a world that values forward momentum. Constant motion feels productive. Necessary. Noble, even. But while driving those long stretches of highway, I began to wonder: What if we’ve confused movement with meaning? 

In physics, perpetual motion is impossible—a machine that runs forever without losing energy defies the laws of nature. But in life? We try anyway.

Somewhere around hour twelve, I realized I hadn’t really stopped moving in weeks. Not just physically, but mentally. I was checking flights while still unpacking bags. Thinking about work while celebrating my friend’s milestone. Planning the next stop before I’d even settled into the current one.

It felt like progress. But it wasn’t peace.

Then, while driving through Virginia, I looked up from the road and really noticed where I was. My friend and I had been talking; the music was playing softly, and the sun was beginning to dip behind a stretch of trees that had turned golden in the light. We didn’t pull over. We didn’t pause the drive. But something in that moment shifted. I took it in. Noticed it. Let it land.

That moment stayed with me. A quiet reminder that stillness doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to be noticed.

And it struck me: this isn’t just about travel. It’s about finance, too.

We’re conditioned to keep moving with our money. Save more. Invest smarter. Optimize every detail. Hustle toward retirement, financial freedom, and the next big benchmark. But too often, we’re sprinting on a treadmill—tired, unfocused, unsure what we’re running toward.

We chase goals we never defined. Adjust strategies we never lived in. React to headlines instead of reflecting on our values. And all of it feels like action. But action without alignment is just noise.

I see this in client conversations. I’ve felt it myself. The drive to do more, without ever asking: Does this still reflect who I am? What do I care about? 

Stillness isn’t failure. It’s clarity.

Sometimes, the wisest financial move isn’t to change strategies or chase the next opportunity. It’s to pause long enough to remember why you started. To listen. To realign. To stop mistaking motion for meaning.

In life and finance, there’s a time to go. And a time to ground.

Perhaps the next step forward starts with stillness.