I was emptying drawers yesterday afternoon. I know I haven’t given you the novel I promised on why things with the genius are falling apart. It will still come, just not before I interject: I’m moving back to my home town. I do not wish to pay another month’s rent here, so I’ve got the rest of April to put all the pieces together.
Six months of intense soul-searching has brought me to this strange precipice. I’ve known it was coming, this life-altering decision I would have to make. I was afraid that there wouldn’t be any sign-posts along the way and that I would just have to leap, terrified, into the unknown. Clinging to the hope that I wouldn’t have to go so blindly, I was bouyed and I’ve been rewarded.
When I finally started to do something about all the mess I’m in, puzzle pieces came into view. I don’t want to say I’m jaded, but with each little step I have to keep questioning and doubting and hoping. It’s a new life. I don’t want to lose the urgency to live wide open. There is much to do. There is much to hope for.
I raised a sport purse out of a deep drawer, and when I opened the purse, a fortune cookie fortune greeted me from a clear pocket: “Your dearest wish will come true.” It’s not really one wish in particular. It’s a schema of wishes. At a time when everything seems ripe, I want to say yes to life. I still waver with uncertainty, but I’m now taking steps, no matter the measure, instead of lying stagnant in fear and confusion.
(The link to “yes” in the previous paragraph is one of the best stories ever. Read it. It’s worth it.)
