For the last few years I have been giving up on various visions of the future that I had, heretofore:
Imagine a meticulously handpainted theatre backdrop suddenly retracted up into one of those magical screen rollers, and the shock of realizing that what's behind that screen?
Last week another screen rolled up and I'm looking at the fog (again).
It isn't as thrilling as the fog was when Addison and I were driving to school. As visually stunning as the fog was? The road was familiar and a repeat. And what's more? I have driven through that fog before. And every time, the road continues, and it is familiar and repetitive, and the fog rolls back a bit more.
The only comfort to me about the fog of the future?
Is that I am at least not looking at a screen. I am reconciled to moving forward and I am reconciled that the outcomes are unknown. And I am sometimes okay with that. Sometimes.
Those screens were just so convincing, you know? Happy endings? Clear directions? Occupational trajectories? Destinies?
The details were so meticulously painted! So agreed upon by everyone! So endorsed and prescribed and affirmed!
(In my last blog post I gave up on inbetween-ness and committed to a direction. The re-appearance of a post here? Is, yes, a re-commitment to the journey. The foggy, destiny-free journey. )