Freedom is sort of intoxicating, though not conducive to writing entries in my blog, apparently.
I don't have tons to say, or maybe I have tons to say, but can't/won't/don't want to begin? Here's one thing: I'm still very much freaked out about figuring out what's next, about simply accepting what's next, about moving on to what's next. Like being stuck in the present, a classic image of the ostrich:
I don't know what makes this so difficult or scary, or so hard to just get started. Maybe if I stopped trying to figure it out, I might be clearer on what I want. On the other hand, I haven't gotten anywhere as yet, so I fear even worse stagnation if I don't try.
It feels like a big, giant hand is wrapped around my mid section, squeezing really hard, when I think about this stuff.