In my life, very few shifting events—those decisive moments when life goes from This to That—unfold in a solo way, happening all by itself. I seem to get disruptions in big, broad swaths, multiple aspects of my dailyness undone at once.
Here I am, in a sea of change again.
As an avowed adrenalin addict and maker of change, I’m always quite struck how disorienting it is when multiple meaningful shifts are foisted upon me by external forces simultaneously. (This makes me smile a little bit, because maybe my personality is more balanced than I’ve assumed. I suppose in the end I am a pretty measured, if passionate, kind of pot stirrer.)
For me right now, these are quiet days. I feel the pressure of things I’ve lost behind my eyes, but I’m trying to sit quietly within myself and merely do the orderly tasks of reaching out to colleagues and friends, slowly putting myself back in the mix, letting everyone know I am once again looking for work.
Last week, I set foot in the Hearst Tower for the first time since the day I resigned from Redbook when my parents fell ill. I realized when I was in the Tower that it had been almost six years exactly, just a few days past the date I resigned.
So funny how life seems to have these logical portions of time. This happened, now it’s time for That. This cycle is done, now move onto the next. I feel that painfully right now.
In these months at home working on my book I rediscovered so much about what it is I had lost in my childhood. But while here, I also found something else that ignited me and made me feel whole.
As I say goodbye to one stage and enter another, I pause for a moment of silence.
Becoming: the work of it is never done, in ways both poignant and brutal. And it seems I will forever be Filling In The Blanks.