There are so many uncertainties right now I'm feeling a bit unmoored. Our home is for sale, and we have to sell it before we can find a new home. We have no idea how long that will take or where we will go. As a consultant, I'm continuously at the mercy of forces beyond my control--how many clients will be here next month or next year? Will I at some point need to find a "real" job, and could I? My elderly mother will not be around much longer, but I don't know how or when the end will come. Two of my friends have cancer. I can't swing a cat without hitting a reminder about mortality.
As I face my birthday, there haven't been many times in my life that felt as out of my control as this. I'm trying to remember a line from a Whitman poem (I think) about the "mooring of beginnings." Amid all the uncertainty of casting off into uncharted waters--there is a liberty in beginning again that both steadies and excites. If it's true that our beginnings never know our endings, maybe it's also true that our endings never know our beginnings.
Trust.


