Why I Never Want to Get There

The Beauty of Wandering Without Arrival

There’s a moment when the arrow releases from the bow, slicing through the air, that you realize you’ve missed the target.

It doesn’t matter if it’s by an inch or a mile. What does matter is the strange relief that follows—especially when you realize the miss might have been the point all along.

For years, I’ve been fascinated by the idea of being “intentionally unintentional.” On the surface, it sounds paradoxical. How can one aim to be aimless, or seek to live without seeking?

It’s a question I often sit with, though never with the goal of answering it. Instead, I’ve embraced the dance of letting life unfold without rigid expectations, knowing that even the act of letting go is, in itself, a kind of aim.

The I Ching, particularly Hexagram 56, has been a guiding light in this journey. Known as “The Wanderer,” Hexagram 56 speaks of moving through life like a traveler, unattached to outcomes and unburdened by permanence.

It reminds us that the goal isn’t just to build a home on every stop but to carry the spirit of discovery within ourselves. The Wanderer doesn’t demand a destination; the journey itself is home.

This perspective stands in stark contrast to the relentless goal-setting culture we find ourselves in today. In the West, success is often measured by hitting a bullseye, crossing a finish line, or achieving some neatly defined milestone.

But in Eastern philosophy—and particularly in Taoism—the act of striving often feels like trying to hold water in your hands. The tighter you grip, the faster it escapes.

I find a certain joy in never arriving. To arrive would mean completion, and completion, to me, feels like the end of mystery.

And I love mystery. I love the surprises that catch you when you least expect them—the serendipitous moments that occur when you aren’t forcing outcomes or plotting every step ahead of time.

This is why I’m drawn to the idea that the journey matters more than the destination. In Taoism, the path of the Tao is often likened to flowing water—fluid, adaptable, and unencumbered by the need to “get somewhere.”

Water doesn’t aim to fill a cup; it simply pours. It doesn’t aim to carve canyons; it simply flows. The results are profound, yet unintentional.

But let’s not pretend this is always easy. There’s a kind of societal inertia that pushes us toward defining ourselves by outcomes.

We’re taught to set goals, make plans, and relentlessly pursue them. And sure, there’s nothing inherently wrong with this—goals can be useful.

The trouble arises when we let the destination overshadow the joy of the journey or, worse, define our worth by whether we hit the mark.

Hexagram 56 also warns of the dangers of becoming too fixed in our ways. As a Wanderer, you can’t drag unnecessary baggage on your journey. Emotional attachments, rigid goals, and fixed identities weigh you down. Instead, it encourages us to walk lightly, stay curious, and adapt to the ever-changing landscape of life.

There’s a lesson in this for all of us. It’s not that we should abandon all goals, but rather that we should approach them with a sense of play and curiosity.

So, aim for the target, yes—but be delighted when the arrow veers off-course, for that’s often where the real adventure begins.

In my own life, I’ve found that when I release my grip on expectations, life seems to surprise me in the most delightful ways.

Whether it’s a chance encounter, an unexpected opportunity, or the beauty of an ordinary moment, these surprises remind me that some of the best things in life happen when we’re not actively trying to make them happen.

So, I’ve chosen to live a life where I don’t want to “get there.” Not because I fear success, but because I know that “there” is an illusion. What I seek isn’t a point of arrival but an ever-unfolding journey, rich with mystery, surprise, and the occasional missed target.

Perhaps the greatest freedom comes from realizing that the arrow doesn’t need to hit the bullseye, the path doesn’t need a destination, and we don’t need to complete the story. Life, after all, isn’t about arriving—it’s about wandering.

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Much Love,

Diamond Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist