I'd glossed over the email announcement, writing two short words back to my bosses. "Thank you." was all I could say with real sincerity. I'd been doing the work after all and all this, which in other circumstances would've had me calling friends and family for a victory dinner, had left me both grateful yet still in thought. My mind couldn't leap to all the newfound future things I could anticipate indulging in, instead it felt much like receiving a long awaited marriage proposal just at the moment you realized it was for the best you weren't asked in the first place. I was thankful yet uneasy. And I'd gone home to call the Lovely Libran who quickly understood and confirmed my thoughts.
Beyond the childish touching and tasting, smelling and seeing, I'd always felt a hyper sense. On easy days, these were beautifully soft colored dreams of places and people, of things I'd find myself doing, soon to be pleasant deja vu and harmless enough to take for granted. Sometimes it was a knack for finding lost things, one my family and friends had come to rely on. At the extreme, it was uttering something someone was thinking, leaving them to look askance at me.
On the not so easy days, it was an electric restlessness that unsettled my stomach to no end. I would double up, cramped, feeling as if I'd swallowed something which couldn't make its mind up between in or out. It was just.. there. Roiling inside me like a storm with no howling wind. Quiet and doing whatever it wanted to.
Usually this had to do with an incomprehensible feeling of knowing "something", sometimes it was understanding exactly what adults meant for all the pains they took to use a foreign language, or through their codified sentences, sometimes it was a wolfish sense of another's nature and an innate ability to portend what they may or may not do, or just an inexplicable hunch that said this, not that is true. Sometimes these were terrible dreams so vivid I'd forget where I was when I woke up. When most people talk about their intuition and emotions as surely what this all is, they speak a little more comfortably about it. It is to them something that sneaks up and whispers, or could be easily brushed aside. Or maybe it just appears that way.
Even now, a large part of my work deals with truths others prefer not to hear or see or deal with, no surprise. I focus a lot on the service it provides, to doing what needs to be done. There's a holiness and honor to work that can help us undertake it even during uncertain times. Yet beneath everything I felt the half-inch shifts of spirit, the minute adjustments of soul still ripening. It frightens me, to be honest. I frighten me. I realize I suppose, how unexpected I can be even to myself.
But what does this all mean to my story as a writer?
In essence, it means that something I originally saw and treated as a burden, that is perception and intuition are very much both healed and a source of healing through writing. It means that I almost always feel lost, that even while in the comfort and quiet of my well-arranged flat there is always a part of me that relates and remembers too well, the displaced, the abandoned, the uncertain and the in between. My understanding is rarely antiseptic. Tell me a story, and I will feel the unmentioned moment, a poignant and terribly raw snap shot I wouldn't bring up. What for? I know, and to someone I'm listening to, it is more than enough that I do. I've seen who they are loose ended, and I am there. Isn't that what we all want?
So while I say I FEEL lost, I am probably a lot less lost than I used to be. I am bereft of a ratified action plan guaranteed to deliver emotional and financial satisfaction to both myself and the nearest and dearest. Most likely, whatever I end up doing will be upsetting. The chaos required for new beginnings usually is. But I am found in the sense that I am more myself than I ever have been, I just couldn't tell you what version 2.0 will look like.
Vita Sackville-West wrote "There are no signposts in the sea." Indeed. And the North Star beloved by all who've endured unmarked waters is just as much in us as out there. I've gone dark in the hopes of it shining brighter and sharper, so I can tilt port or starboard. So I can find my center in the middle of a moving sea.
There is such peace in just writing that, and sharing it with everyone who's read and asked after me. I know even without a litany of details, we have all met our cross roads and who we are in flux. We have all given up the comforts of a past self, and broken old worlds to form new ones. I'm not unusual or special in this respect, but for now as I write this, in flux is where you'll find me.