I find myself most unusually pensive, awaiting, uncertain, confused about my place and my direction. Sea changes arrive quite unexpectedly and are most disturbing when any obvious true alteration in direction is plainly untenable, without purpose or merit.
We all are inclined to choose paths vaguely, with more hope that certainty, but once a first step takes us through the chasm no retreat is plausible or even desirable. We quite serenely risk all kind of dangers against out better judgement, making any adventure memorable, exhilarating, impossible to refuse, a seductress for any honest soul. Nothing excites quite like fear, sets the blood rushing through our veins like the threat of impending disaster.
Presently every tomorrow is a mystery, a wrapped box to be opened and perused at my leisure, if permitted. The edge of my seat is not so uncomfortable, the tender hooks do dig in a little, but not too terribly. I manage, I survive, soldier on, as is expected, for the race is not over till the finishing line is broken and proved yet but another beginning.