I find myself in something of a limbo.
In between where I was, and where I want to be. And this has left me in a curious emotional state equal parts positive and troubled.
I feel an intermingling of tempered hope and unease at an uncertain future. I feel satisfaction that certain steps are being taken in my life. Steps that could bring me closer to where I really want to be, as I have a few literary agents currently taking my work into consideration. I feel closer now than I’ve ever felt to getting what I really want out of my life, but beyond this point what control I have diminishes. It’s out of my hands. And there’s anxiety in the waiting.
I’m learning to let go of what I can’t control. There’s distraction in work and hobbies, but in the end I’m finding distraction to not fully quench the fire of uncertainty. So I’m taking solitude where I should be taking solitude.
In writing things that add meaning to my life, and hopefully provide some type of meaning to the lives of others as well.
But there are moments where it feels like I’m sitting on the edge of an abyss, my feet dangling over a dark, and I’m whispering a story into a nothingness. Not another sound save for my own hoarse voice.
And then out of the dark, a whisper. An audible whisper. Something of a reply from the quiet.
And then a sudden return to that purest silence. Engulfing me once more.
And so I wonder.