The road hath ended

I had this tied to my ankle when I graduated my yoga teacher training course, to accompany me and help me along my journey. At the time, I set the intention for it,

May I have the courage to walk the path I'm meant to.

Months passed.
The strings frayed, became water-logged. Flimsy. I marveled quietly at their perseverence. I took their encouragement. Still here.

Last night, I didn't even notice it come off. Not even in the shower, either. Under pressure or something. The act of taking off a sock at the end of a long, exciting day.

In the morning, when I saw it, I hoped I was mistaken. Was it really my journey, the one that had ended? And if so, where to next?

I couldn't help but see it as meaningful. I'm 27 in a couple of days, and do believe that means something. A transition point. It's not for nothing, certainly not eerie coincidence many didn't make it past this age.
If you continue down childhood's path, you die. You're barred, eternally, from Narnia. You grow up.

Birthdays allegedly don't mean nothing, but they could mean something. Could mean looking back.

I had a string bracelet just like this one when I started the course, but severed it when it became uncomfortable and maintained, still, my path.

Strings breaking mustn't mean the road is necessarily ending. But it can mean pause and redress. Check the course before you arrive in Neverland.
I'm pursuing my goal.
Shedding my velvet.
Painting my toenails.
Dancing up a storm.

Good morning, (almost) 27.