Soul Desire

There is a kind of desire we don’t talk about enough.

Not the kind that burns hot and fast,

not the one tied to chemistry or urgency,

and not the spark that flares and vanishes.

I’m talking about the desire that sits deeper than want.

The desire that rises like a quiet tide inside your life

and whispers, “This way.”

For most of my life, I mistook desire for intensity.

If it made my heart race,

if it swept me into the rush,

if it felt dramatic and consuming,

I thought that meant it mattered.

I didn’t know desire could be soft.

Or patient.

Or gentle the way a river is gentle—

smooth on the surface,

yet powerful enough to carve a canyon over time.

The soul kind of desire doesn’t demand.

It reveals.

It shows you what you long for when you’re not bracing,

not performing,

not trying to earn your place.

It shows you what stays

when the noise quiets,

when the storm passes,

when your body finally recognizes safety again.

Soul-desire is honest.

Directional.

A quiet pull you feel more than you hear.

It draws you toward a truer life,

toward the places where breath deepens,

toward the people who feel like expansion instead of effort,

toward the work that rises from your core rather than your wounds.

It’s the desire to move without rushing,

to create without performing,

to rest without apology.

Some desires mark the next chapter.

This kind marks the next self.

And the older I get, the more I understand that desire isn’t a disruption.

It’s a compass.

A current beneath everything familiar.

The first sign that something in you is ready to grow.

Maybe this season is for that—

not the ache for something far away,

but the desire already in bloom

within me.

The desire that doesn’t ask me to be more,

only to follow what pulls me outward—

the rising current urging me toward wider horizons,

new experiences,

and the unimagined joy waiting just beyond the edge of my life.