Hi, my name is Vaibhavi Goyal, and welcome to Choose Fullness.

It was the fourth hour of waiting to witness one of the most remarkable sights of Kenya’s Maasai Mara: the great migration crossing. Over a million wildebeest, zebras, and gazelles making their way south in search of food and water. Despite the thick East African midday heat, we stayed put, knowing others had been waiting even longer, some since sunrise. Their patience was confirmed by the dry silence among us, the one that only comes after sitting in the same spot for hours. The kind of silence that says, “we’ve waited too long to leave now.”

But still, nothing. The herds stood frozen at the edge of the river, thousands of them backed up behind the first hundred or so. All of Maasai Mara’s millions, it seemed, waiting to cross. We asked our driver, Saif, why they hadn’t gone yet. “Once one goes,” he said, “they’ll all go.” Apparently, that’s how it works—one brave leap, and the rest follow in an almost choreographed stampede. But until that moment, they wait. It doesn’t matter how many are behind them. It doesn’t matter how desperate they are for food and water. The fear of the river is stronger.

And honestly, you can’t blame them. The water is full of crocodiles, floating not far from the riverbank were the bodies of wildebeest who hadn’t made it across the last time. The animals standing at the edge could see their fallen, and I could only imagine the fear pulsing through them. Still, they knew they had to get across. At some point, the reward of what’s on the other side outweighs the danger. But even then, who wants to be the first?

Watching the herds stall felt oddly familiar. As humans, we do the same thing. We know there’s something better on the other side of a hard decision, a risk, a leap of faith—but the unknown freezes us. Our minds flood with fear, anxiety, and worst-case scenarios. We convince ourselves that maybe we can just wait a little longer. That maybe if someone else does it first, we’ll feel more sure. And it’s wild how true that becomes: when someone else moves, when someone else goes with you, it suddenly feels less scary. It’s almost like the fear gets divided.

That moment at the river made me think about how courage isn’t always loud or obvious. Sometimes it looks like one shaky step forward. It looks like going first when no one else will. It looks like trusting in something bigger than yourself when the future makes absolutely no sense. I’ve been learning what it means to listen to God’s voice in those moments—when I can’t see what’s ahead, when I feel completely alone in the decision, and when everything in me wants to turn back. Faith, I’m learning, isn’t the absence of fear. It’s deciding to move anyway.

Because if you don’t believe in something greater than yourself, you end up stuck inside your own mind. And science tells us that our brains are constantly predicting outcomes based on past experiences. That means if you’ve never done something before—if you’ve never seen the other side of the river—your brain will literally resist the idea. It doesn’t know how to file it. It doesn’t trust it. That’s why faith matters. It brings you out of the trap of your own thinking. It pulls you into a life that’s not limited to what you’ve already lived. And that’s where the new experiences begin, the ones that change you.

Throughout the day, we’d catch glimpses of hope. Some of the animals would inch forward, take a few steps down the slope, then sprint right back up. It was frustrating to watch, but it was also very human. How many times have we done the same thing? Moved toward something good but scary, then retreated out of fear? And still, there’s something so beautiful about those first steps, even when they don’t go all the way. Because every inch forward is still progress.

Eventually, one went. And just like that, the rest followed. It was chaotic and powerful and breathtaking. Some didn’t make it across. Some were lost to the impact or the crocodiles. But I’ll never forget what Saif said when I asked him why they would risk it, knowing what could happen. He said, “Even the ones who don’t make it had more courage than the ones who never tried.”

His remark was something I have thought about over and over again. Life is way too short to stay frozen at the edge of the river. To live in fear of the “what ifs.” To turn back every time something feels risky or unknown. We’re not meant to stay on the former side of the cliff forever. At some point, we have to go down and not look back. We have to trust that something better is on the other side, even if it doesn’t make sense yet.

So take the risk, be scared, do it anyway. Trust that your faith will carry you where your fear cannot. And remember that courage doesn’t always feel like courage in the moment. Sometimes it just feels like finally deciding to move.

So remember—your glass is full. Whether you see it that way is up to you.