Six

Herself speaks.

I was surprised this morning when Facebook reminded me that it is the sixth anniversary of the Unmooring. Usually May is a tricky month, with transitions that generate flashbacks to other changes including the Unmooring; this year, however, the days and weeks of Stay-at-Home/Work-Safe have blended time into a long, seamless stream of uncertainty from which such reminders are absent. It's a very strange state of affairs. 

It is hard, now, to stretch back through time and touch the tremendous grief that accompanied the Unmooring. Perhaps it is the current unease that renders that feeling unreachable. Perhaps it is the sound of the approaching Divergence that distracts from old sorrow. And perhaps, too, I have at long last come to terms with the Unmooring. Life, and I, have moved on. 

It might be time for me to look backward less, and to set some goals to which to look forward more. I am not sure what to do: I have tended to the needs of others -- husband, children, extended family, clients -- for so very long, that I feel a little lost. What do I want? What can I do for myself, without it impinging on my obligations to others? What would make me happy? 

I don't know. I have a hard time thinking about what I want. 

I do know, that it's easier not to be disappointed if you have no expectations or anticipations; and that much of my disinclination to set future objectives is borne out of a desire not to feel the sting when things do not go as I hope. The tasks at hand thus appear to be: learn to embrace the possibility of obstacles or setbacks, as well as to imagine alternative pathways, in setting and reaching goals. 

We shall see how it goes. 

I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to reach my destination.