Life in the Hallway

I found this little thing on the beach I thought was a marble, but it is a live creature of some sort, a jelly ball.

Days putter by, relentlessly cold and windy.

I remembered a visual this morning, of lying on the floor of the hallway of my duplex in Seattle. From that vantage point I could see the doors to the bedrooms, living room and bathroom, all tightly fit into a nice neat 5' square box. I lied there for a few moments pondering the years spent in that duplex, my beautiful home, those colorful walls, the private garden. It was my last day in the house, and this was part of my leaving ritual to say goodbye to all the spaces before I walked out for good.

Each room had their own peace to say, the kitchen, the garden, the bedrooms, but it was the garage that took me most by surprise. You see, the garage had an automatic door opener, and that meant I had arrived. It was a silly thing, but I had always dreamt of having a garage door opener of my very own. It meant I was an adult. And leaving that garage behind meant I was heading back into the world of street parking, and a life of unknowns.

Someone once told me that when one door closes, another door opens... but in the meantime you are in the hallway. I've been in that hallway for a long time now. And as each day creeps by I get more and more restless. Last night someone remarked to me that I've had a nice vacation. It may seem so from the outside, but this time out is not about vacating anything -- it is about being empty of ideas and waiting. If I had any ideas of which direction to turn to next, I would be doing it already. It is who I am.

Or who I used to be. I have never in my life been so directionless, and it is confusing and uncomfortable. The world swirls around me at such swift speeds that I feel about as exciting as a shrub. In the winter. Buried in snow. I cannot wait until my springtime arrives and I start to bud with ideas. That is my hope anyway. The hallway has to lead somewhere, right?