In the Blank

Aloha, I’m Ashley. I write about life through the lens of love for creative souls who seek to make life more beautiful. If you find value in the magical and inspiration in the messy middle, subscribe to join the journey. Your footprints will be celebrated.

Sometimes, I enter a space that can only be described as blank. It’s different than a pause or transition. It’s not stuck. It’s not static. It’s not even I don’t know, which would indicate movement towards knowing. 

It’s just…open. 

And it’s uncomfortable. 

It’s a weird place to inhabit because it goes against everything we’re taught to value. It’s not tangible. It’s not productive. It’s not measurable. 

It’s mystical.

Uncontrollable. 

We like to know things, right? Where am I going? What am I doing? What’s happening?  What are my next five steps to ensure that I don’t waste a moment of my short, tiny life (no pressure there)? 

Those questions don’t have answers from this space. There is no thinking my way out of here, which I famously try to do. Problem? Here’s a solution. Conundrum, not for long! Discomfort? Don’t worry, brain has you covered!

In the past, I’ve done my level best to truncate the blank, move right out of it. I would do all the things — useful, helpful, growing things — like journaling, reading, or learning. Sometimes, less useful and helpful things like punishing grout with a toothbrush or binge-reading candy-floss novels. The blank, I assumed, must be a defect: something to be transitioned out of at speed. I never believed it was a gift. 

I was in the blank when I didn’t write last week, and I’m in it now. I incorrectly assumed that being in the blank meant creating nothing new, which is not necessarily the case (although sometimes it is). But creating from here is different.

It doesn’t look like my usual creative process. It’s not predictable. It’s not premeditated. It’s not strategized. I have no planned project. It is more like an opening for spirit to guide me. And it’s quite a bit slower than I’m accustomed to. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going to come through or if anything will, which feels exciting and terrifying, respectively.

I’ve never lingered long here in the past — terror winning out over acceptance and curiosity — but this time, I absolutely cannot abide the idea of generating fullness. It’s exhausting to imagine filling myself with a project or purpose in order to avoid the void. 

The ego would love that, though. Please, oh please, be useful. Do something! Discomfort is your enemy. You’re self-sabotaging. And the one that always gets me, You’re wasting time! As if, ego, as if.

The blank and the ego cannot coexist. 

Because the truth is, my life is not blank, empty, or wasted. The truth is, there is fullness in the blank. Beauty in the blank. Opportunity in the blank. 

As my teacher told me, embracing blankness allows wisdom that is not my own to come through. It’s from this space of stillness that curiosity and creativity can flow freely — albeit less linearly and predictably than I’m comfortable with.

Even so, I am falling in love with the blank. And my ego is screaming. 

I hope it loses its voice, but I’m not naive; I know it won’t. The ego always finds a wormy way in. When it does, I will get to choose. 

Open or constricted. Magic or control. Blank or blocked — which can be tricky because sometimes blocked feels like safe. 

I have had to make the choice (over and over) not to make myself wrong in this experience. I will not rush it. I will not load my fears upon it. I’m riding it out, seeing what happens. Letting the emptiness, the unknown, the blank space stretch around me, pulling itself into a shape that is not of my making.

It is as thrilling as it is unnerving. All the best rides are.

I wish we had more conversations around this feeling, this place. I don’t know if anyone else finds themselves here, what they call it, what they do. I have a hunch certain wise folk inhabit the blank more often than not — like it’s home base they return to again and again after being sent around the circle by life’s animating force. Others, most of us, probably rush through it wearing a gas mask like we’ll be stuck here in perpetuity should we pause for a breath and a look around, likely dying in the meantime.

I suppose if you think of it like baseball (which I neither spectate nor play, but stay with me here), you wait your turn to bat. It might be a while, or you might be next. The lineup is not published. That’s kind of what this feels like. The game is afoot, and I know I’m going to be called to the plate for my next run around the bases; I just don’t know when or which bases. They’re always changing. 

In the meantime, I keep myself warm, ready, and relaxed, and I don’t let fear take me out of the game. It’s a moment-by-moment experiment.

Here’s to hanging around home, heart open, until we’re called to run whatever bases are before us.