Into the Fog

I didn't want this; I didn't want to end up here. The plan was to leave Jackson, leave Ruston, leave Texas, leave everything I know and strike out on my own. The plan was to be big, to write big, to live big in a city so big that no one would know who I was. I wanted to live with my headphones in on a subway, people-watching in peace. I wanted the cute office space with a window seat and co-workers that doubled as family. I wanted the comfort of coming home to a few good friends, a cup of tea, and a cheap apartment. 

The plan was to fall in love in a bookstore with someone cute but kind of dumb (so I could dazzle him with my brilliance). The plan was to make enough money to get on a plane every month, woo nationally recognized magazines with my words, and write and travel and do street cafes and bookstores. 

The plan was perfect. It sounded beautiful rolling off my tongue and matched the sparkle in my eye. Sheer brilliance. It was mine; and it was all about me. 

Yet here I am, almost to April, and the plan isn't as clear as I want it to be. The steep cliff known as graduation keeps getting closer; so close I swear I can feel the loose rocks beneath my feet threatening to throw me straight off the cliff at my next wrong move. My next steps look less like a great life plan and more like mysterious, looming shadows in a distant fog. 

I'll be honest about this part of life, it doesn't make any sense. Maybe for some people it does. But for me, each application feels like a rejection and each step forward seems to be followed by three stumbles back. I feel less in control of the plan, and I don't like that. Actually, I hate it. Those hazy shadows in the fog taunt me with their mystery. I want to them to step out of the fog and become clear. I want to be able to determine their identity from afar, where it's safe. But life won't become clear while I'm standing far away, apprehending the unknown from a distance.  The richness of the future lies beyond this paralyzing fear. It begs me to stop watching and speculating, and beckons me to walk forward and join it. 

So it's time to walk into the fog. It's time to move toward the unknown. Because life isn't going to come from me squinting toward a distant mystery. It's there--a few steps ahead--right through the fog. And each step is terrifying because of the risk that it requires. Each step forward could mean rejection. It could mean a closed door. It could mean the hard truth spoken to your face. 

But you do it anyway. You keep going because it's worth it. You risk the fog, the precipice, the murky mystery, and you keep going, because the next step could be your open door. It could be the encouragement that carries you through the next five rejection emails. It could be a rekindling of your passion or an opportunity to claim the truth despite the voices of deceit.

So what's the plan? Well, it's not as clear as I thought. It's not so perfect either. But it's straight ahead--right beyond the fog--and I'm not going to figure it out standing off at a distance. I don't know what's waiting for me in there, probably a lot of scary and beautiful things. But for now, I'm walking into the fog.