What makes me significant? How can I support myself? Who will go with me?
My life so far has indeed been concerned with those questions. And do you know what? I know the answers to them now. I didn’t in my early 20s but almost 30 years later, I do. (Here’s one answer, here’s a couple more.)
What does the fact I can answer those questions tell me? That I have come to the end of the first half of my life, that’s what.
The task that was mine to do has been done. I still have to earn a living and make a home. I still want to attend to my dear family and dear, dear friends, but the point is that I’m not searching for them any more.
That morning on the number 50, I was able to give a name to my grief. I was mourning the completion of the first part of life. Happily or not, thankfully or not, I had finished that job. It was time to clear out my drawers, pack up my desk and pick up my P45.
I had felt despair because something had come to an end, though I did not know what it was. Now I have the hope that something else awaits. I believe there is a second journey, another voyage, a different way to be.
What’s it going to be like? I don’t know. I’ve only just started. But I want to find out. I’m listening to the songs of angels. I reckon they will give me clues.
Next step: A strange new inner silence