I've been terrified of blank pages and clean slates lately. There have been so many changes going on in my personal life that I'm seeking consistency and sure bets everywhere else: at work, in my writing, in the entertainment I put in front of me. But there aren't any sure bets, in anything. Usually, I'd love that. I resist monotony and most things that are deemed too "traditional". I especially resist settling in any form of the word.
(And this is a soft but, but still a whisper can be really loud when you're purposely trying to ignore it.)
When you had a certain level of "knowing" how things are, of a pretense of how things are going to be, it can be terrifying and jarring to be rocketed into the unknown. Within the last month I have moved out of an apartment with three best friends, a place that we all thought we'd be living in for at least two years. That change was big and it happened because of a really (good) big life decision on one of my friend's behalf. I've ended a relationship that changed directions in a matter of days and has me still reeling because who, emotions, me? I've not been able to write even a sentence in my WIP that I like. I have no idea where I'll be even a year from now.
Everything is up in the air. Everything. And the Type-A planner in me is wanting to spiral out of control because there is no possible way I can control everything.
I know that right now I have endless opportunities ahead of me.
And before this summer started, I was looking forward to endless opportunities. I was making my way through this year just to get to the next step: graduation. After that: who knew?
Now, though, I'm drowning in so many maybes, doubts, what-ifs, groundless hopes.
I'm trying to maneuver my way into a semblance of what my life was like before May but I think I'm learning that I need to give myself time. Life is crazy and strange and terrifying and heartbreaking and beautiful. It's impossible for me to have the answers when what I'm best at is asking questions.