Like good ole Bob says, I’ve got to keep moving. Isn’t that the only choice?
One foot in front of the other, through breakfast, checking out, getting to the airport, getting on the plane, getting off the plane, walking to my car, which, I hope, is full of Mrs. Wigglebottom and the Butcher.
One small task after another.
I’m going to take a shower and pack and see what’s new in the world.
I just hope something new and good and better is on the horizon. You know?
I can stand this if it’s leading to something.
But I get torn. I need so desperately to believe that this is leading to something so that I can find the strength to make it through, but I suspect that this is just some shit that happens.
I think faith is irrational and often stupid in the face of reality.
But I also think that, without it, most of us would not be able to function.
I know that, if my family could be here for me, even after death, they would be. I know that. That’s not faith. That’s just how they are. Shoot, if only because they’re nosy and bossy. But, if it can be done, they’re doing it. I know that.
Faith is that next small, crazy leap that says, they are here. You only feel cut off from them because you are so down.
Faith says, just keep moving and trust that the places to step will come, put before you by some unseen force some call fate or god or the will of the ancestors.
So, faith it is. When all else seems uncertain, trust that one breath can lead to the next.