The black cursor blinks at me…waiting for the words. Just like me. There’s a silence, a void. A whispering that I’m straining to hear but I just can’t make it out.

The end of a breath before the next one begins. That moment when maybe it won’t come…panic? Fear? Resigned? Hope?

What’s waiting beyond the next that I can’t see?

For the first time in my life there are no clear next steps. Things are good and permissible. And the choices are overwhelming.

It’s a forced waiting…not one of my choosing.

I remember feeling life moving inside me, waiting for the moment when he would take his first breath outside of me. I chose that waiting.

I remember waiting for her breath. Another choice.

The third…the waiting was different but no less intense. Every morning just before the sun broke across the sky searching for the email that would have come in the dead of night while I lay sleeping…

I feel those same pangs. That longing and waiting—but what exactly I’m giving birth to now, I have no idea.

I’ve turned inward. The prayer of examen, breath prayer and meditation have been a way to connect with the true self.

The invitation whispers—go deeper, get smaller.

How come no one ever told me you never figure out life? There are no answers.

It’s a placing one foot in front of the other.

Sometimes it’s a trudge.

Sometimes it’s a dance, a frolic, a skip.

But it’s always surprising movement and interruption. It’s always learning and growing, adapting and changing.

There is no arrival.

There is an end.

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