My life, which has always felt a little uncertain for the last few years, remains so. I’ve always known that plans can change; that’s why I hate making them. Things you spend your whole life planning can fall apart in a minute. All it takes is a phone call, a death, a break-up. We cannot be responsible for anything outside of ourselves. Often ourselves is problem enough.
And again, my plans have fallen apart. But I think it’s a testament to how much work I’ve done on myself, that I don’t feel daunted or devastated. I am sad, but curious, almost even a sparkle of excitement. Because I know that when things fall apart, they eventually come back together, and often the result is something better than you could have imagined in the first place.
And though things feel a little broken, and I feel a little lost and confused, I have wrestled with a sad and broken version of myself. That version of me might pop up again, from time to time, but I’m not afraid of it. And sometimes sadness can have the same texture as happiness, in the way it rocks you awake, in the way it can make you feel alive.