CROSSING INTO UNCERTAINTY

I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT HOW A LIFE CAN NARROW INTO A SINGLE MOMENT—ONE YOU ONLY RECOGNIZE ONCE IT’S ALREADY CARRYING YOU FORWARD. YOU STAND THERE, HALF IN THE OLD WORLD, HALF IN A NEW ONE YOU CAN’T YET NAME, AND SOMETHING INSIDE YOU UNDERSTANDS—QUIETLY, ALMOST UNWILLINGLY—THAT YOU CAN’T GO BACK. NOT BECAUSE YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO, BUT BECAUSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU HAS ALREADY CLOSED, SOFTLY, LIKE A BREATH YOU DIDN’T NOTICE LEAVING.

THERE’S A STRANGE CALM IN THAT. A FRAGILE SETTLEMENT BETWEEN WHO YOU WERE AND WHO YOU MIGHT BECOME. YOU TRY TO HOLD ON TO THE FAMILIAR—FACES, GESTURES, THE SOUND OF CERTAIN MORNINGS—BUT MEMORY HAS ITS OWN LOGIC. IT KEEPS WHAT IT KEEPS AND LETS THE REST FALL AWAY INTO THE DISTANCE.