joy-riding in the void

Dear Sugar Shells,

Happy Wednesday! Today I'm fresh from a sleepover with my sugar monkeys, halfway into a bar of organic dark chocolate, and celebrating a positive haircut experience...AND, of course, I'm still very much in my loss cocoon. (Ah, complexity! How I love thee.)

All that I wrote last week still holds. And yet I'm still functional. Mostly.

I buy groceries, drive to appointments on time, read train stories to my nephew, spin my niece around in circles til we're both dizzy, play fetch with Emma the Brave. (And yes, I'm the one who fetches.) I meet with my beloved clients, plan my upcoming workshops and talks, revise my website. I even unload the dishwasher (but let's please definitely not talk about the dirty pile of items sitting on the counter that don't fit in the dishwasher and therefore require my attention). So, normal things continue.

What isn't continuing is one of the contexts of my life. The backdrop of my life is slowly transforming, like little pieces of colored glass shifting in a kaleidoscope.

As I navigate the daily things and process the backdrop alteration, what interests me the most is how the horizons of my life appear very, very short right now.

I do not mean that I anticipate dying this weekend. (Don't worry, Mom!)

It's that I can't really imagine what the backdrop will look like even in a short time from now. I can barely plan my schedule for tomorrow, let alone five weeks out (or - gasp- five years!).

For someone who considers the words "organized" and "structured" to be high compliments, this is downright weird. I've shared before that I'm a "J" type in the Myers-Briggs world, meaning that I feel happy when decisions are made, when calendars are settled, when things seem under control.

But those traits reflect how I show up in the external world.

Internally, there is the spacious openness of uncertainty. It's like I'm joy-riding a groovy magic carpet through a void of black, starry galaxies with no sense of place or direction or end. Untold possibilities exist in the new backdrops available.

And, quite strangely, this excites me. Occasionally I am acutely terrified, yes, but in general, I feel...optimistic.

Somehow I've become a person who feels delight in the void. And truthfully, that makes this whole change thing about a squillion times easier.

Much love,
Julie