Poignancy of a Blank Slate

I chewed on that thought while going home from work today. It’s how my life looks like right now. A blank canvass. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing set to achieve.

For some time now this truth keeps slamming into me. Disappointing. Discouraging. At an age when I thought I’d already be doing well in a career I personally chose, I still do not know what direction to take. I told myself when I was a kid that I’d get married by the age of 27 or 28 but here I am, months away from turning 27 and Darcy-Foreman-Harris-(insert Capt. America’s last name here) all rolled into one is still nowhere in sight.

Pathetic, sorry life.

Or so I thought.

As I contemplated about my past mistakes and misses, gratitude somehow managed to creep into my heart making me realize that this blank slate of a life is nothing short of a miracle. Instead of a reality shambled into pieces because of wrong choices, I have a fresh, clean page before me.

But oh how I’ve spent days that quickly turned into months mourning this sense of emptiness. My life feels like a vast desert. And I simply can’t keep it to myself now. Spending time in this wilderness is painful. Hope is sapping out of me as quickly as acetone in an open bottle evaporates. Being in this wide expanse of nothingness leaves no room for scheming how to get out of here. I feel like nothing else is true except for that sense of being lost. It feels like trying not to get drowned in a dry ocean of desolation. You try to keep your head above the waves which aren’t really there because there’s nothing. Emptiness contains nothing.

But as the laws of matter go, something can only be filled when it is empty. Anything full has no space for anything more.

Instead of pages filled with dirty smears, inkblots, and scrawls, what I hold are clean, blank leaves.

What a miracle. What a gift.

Blank, empty pages waiting to be filled.

With what? I know not yet. Clean surfaces can be intimidating to work on. It may take a long time before I get the courage to finally start filling these pages but I find that I wouldn’t trade these possible future masterpieces for present, contrived artworks.

I’m still learning to be thankful for this emptiness.

(May 14, 2014)


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