Living in the Ellipses ( you know, the . . . )

Recently, I opened up a magazine from my alma mater to peek at the section of class news.  I was happy for those who are making partner and who are accomplishing great things in the world.  But standing in the kitchen in my pajamas instead of in a downtown office with a twenty-mile view, I started to get sucked into wondering: “What am I doing?”  “Why wasn’t that my path?”  “Why did it work for all of these other people?”

I put down the magazine and took in the view from my office (or kitchen) window overlooking the empty play set in the backyard.  I spotted a small, dark circular cloud hovering just above the horizon.  I’ve never seen a cloud quite like it.  I leaned forward to get a better look and spotted two other almost identical clouds.  Three small, dark circles evenly spaced apart in a row.

An ellipses in the sky.

“To be continued . . .”

My heart grew lighter, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  I know that my story is not over.

I am living in the ellipses.

* * *

There is an in-between time that we don’t hear much about these days.  At least, I never knew about it before I found myself in the middle of it.  It’s a time that might look like foolishness to many–like leaving behind a career without a plan to replace it.  It is a time that might look plain wrong to others–like leaving behind church and Answers and certainty.  It is a time that might look like giving up–like letting go of responsibilities or relationships that are no longer yours to carry.

This in-between time can be hard.
It can feel dark and foggy.
You are in-between what was and what is to come.

The old no longer fits.
All you know is that you no longer
belong where you once were.

I think we all want to be heading somewhere.
Moving.  Making progress
with a clear sense of direction
and purpose.

I suppose I could rush forward
accomplishing to my
head and hand’s delight.

But then I would miss out on this
in-between time.
This time where I am learning to listen,
learning to open wide my heart,
learning to be still,
learning to trust,
learning to move forward
without a map or plan.

This movement is slow.
Incremental.
One day.
One holy step
at a time.

© J.L. Sanborn, 2015.  All Rights Reserved.