I keep catching myself wanting to fast-forward. To the next chapter, the clarity, the moment where it all makes sense and my life folds neatly into a story I can tell at dinner parties.
But this is the story. The middle. The messy, uncertain figuring-it-out-as-I-go part.
It’s lonely here sometimes. Beautiful in ways I can’t name. And I keep reminding myself: the middle isn’t the obstacle to the life I want…it is the life.
This is where the muscles build. Where the voice cracks open. Where the future version of me gets forged.
So I’m staying here. Eyes open, heart soft. Letting it hurt and amaze me in equal measure.
Because figuring out life is hard…and that’s okay. The transformation happens in the uncomfortable middle, not in the neat resolution.
We want to skip to the happy ending, a world focused on outcomes, but the writing is hard and messy and uncertain.
And it’s the whole damn point.
