I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know. It’s as if I’ve been dropped in the middle of a jungle and am trying to find my way home. Some things look familiar and others are frighteningly foreign. I can’t pretend I don’t feel lost when I do. That’s how I feel.
But I also feel called. It’s like someone is gently whispering my name and I just need to keep following the whisper. If I keep walking toward the call, it will grow louder. If I get distracted, I’ll fumble for a while, maybe even backtrack. But if I can get quiet once again I can tune into the call.
Some days hurt more than I can say and others are so filled with hope that I could burst. I’ve simply stopped arguing with what is so that I can move forward. It’s relief, it’s sadness, it’s love.
How did I get here? By letting go.
What do I do next? Keep letting go.
When will it end? When you remember there was never anything to let go of.
I don’t like it, but I’m doing it. I don’t know the way, but I’ll keep walking.
I don’t know, but I’m willing to see this differently.