40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#2

2. It goes round and round in circles and doesn’t seem to get anywhere.

It's funny how different my reaction is to that one from one day to the next. The truth is, of course, that the whole point of a labyrinth is to step off the merry-go-round of "getting somewhere"--a mostly modern concept, anyway. Mostly, when I walk, my soul is reasonably quiet, and I'm not only in no hurry, but am delighted to have nowhere to go. Other times, I'm walking because I'm distraught about something, in which case my heart is all taken up with that and I'm not even thinking about where I'm going.
But it is certainly true that most of us live in a culture now where we are expected to be somehow moving, making progress, getting closer to some sort of destination. Just look at the language:
Climbing the ladder
The glass ceiling
Moving up
Moving ahead
Moving on
Arriving
The ancient language of "the journey," which we appropriate for these metaphors, is in fact an entirely different thing. The word comes from the French "jour," meaning "day." A journey is a process, a thing that's enjoyed each minute, for its own sake. It may, in fact, have a destination, but that's not the most important thing, and you can circle around more than once, detour all you like, or choose to stay in one spot for a while. On a journey, the stones or grass beneath your feet, the water under your boat, the scenery, the weather, the things you do or make, and most of all, the people you meet, are the important things. This sort of journey has been used as a metaphor for life so often, in so many cultures, that it's become cliche.
A trip, on the other hand, is what you do when you want or need, for whatever reason, to be somewhere other than you are. If what matters is being Not-Here, but There instead, then finding the quickest, most efficient route, with the least detours and interruptions, and preferably with the least possible layout of resources is what you're after. The stones, grass, or water (or the air under the wings of your plane) are merely causes for friction and you get impatient if they slow you down. The scenery might get an appreciative look if you notice it. The weather is your enemy, there's nothing to do or make, and people are either there to serve you and get you to your destination easily and comfortably, or they're fellow travelers, often as rushed and impatient as you are and almost certainly in your way. You wait in line behind them, wait for them to get luggage into or out of overhead bins, wait in line again, and wish they'd shut their kids up.
This is decidedly NOT a journey.
So here's the million-dollar question: Which one is your life?