Today, I was reminded of the joy of a new adventure.
The unknown path ahead.
The fork in the road.
Oh I felt young again.
I rejoiced.
I was nauseous just before it.
My brain casting a spell of darkness.
And yet, when I leaped inside the unknown I felt elation.
The kind I had forgotten about.
The kind only reserved for the years before.
But yet, there it was. My very own fork in the road.
Oh no, I wasn’t running towards it at first.
I was questioning it for the longest time.
I found myself resting inside the spell.
Lingering in there, wondering if I could find my way like I used to.
Like I had done in my 20s, when the pain of not landing on solid ground couldn’t scar you for life. In my 30s, when the sorrow of losing my whole world gave me strength to find anew.
In my 40s now, late 40s really.
Questioning that fork in the road.
Pacing that blends with crawling.
Wanting to stand up, even inside my own nausea.
And not bother with the thought of not landing well.
And so I do. I choose the road without a name.
It had been a while.
I had forgotten the lust of it.
The longing of the blank page.
But at last.
The unknowns.
The unnamed and the untolds.
I beckoned them back to me.
One more time.
And they came, remembering my name from all the befores.
May you too listen to the whispers, the whistlings and the songs, beckoning yours.
However old. However long it’s been.
With a new fork,
Christina
P.S If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts,
this week’s Dear Life Podcast is with Erin Matlock
who has survived to tell her story.
Listen here.
