Shifting sands

So maybe I lied. Or maybe I didn’t. Oh, the joys of never knowing until you know. (And never knowing WHEN you’ll know until you know that you know.)

We know that we’re leaving the Saguenay this year. We don’t know when, exactly. We have absolutely no idea where we’ll head from here. We thought we knew, at least, that the leaving would have to be done without the military’s help. We don’t even know that anymore. What we think we know changes every day. Literally. Every. Single. Day.

It’s frustrating and a bit overwhelming. It’s as if we’re juggling four balls, and as they go up, none come back down. And we’re standing here, waiting, wondering when or if they’ll start to rain back upon us, and whether or not they’ll have changed when/if they do fall back to earth.

But I tell myself, I have an amazing life partner, a best friend who’s great in the good times, and incomparably wonderful in times of stress and uncertainty. I have amazing family and friends around the world, including some here locally. I have enough to keep me busy here for the moment. And we have a ticking clock that moves us, one second at a time, toward some sort of change.

Change. Our only certainty for the moment.

We’re still in that darkest hour before dawn, but time is marching us toward answers, toward something new. As I told the husband just today, if we just continue to not die, we’ll get to the other side of this paralytic void of not-knowing and start making a life on the other side.

That’s enough. It has to be enough, so it is.

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