I Don’t Know Where I’m Going

January 3, 2026
Port Charlotte, Florida

I let myself feel last night.

I felt the loneliness deeply and I sat with it and I cried. My face scrunched in an ugly manner, my chest heaved, and I felt a hollowness deep in my gut.

Like my soul was bottomless and filling with heavy matter that just kept pouring deep deep down, pushing the well of my soul down so far it went straight through the earth, into the pits of hell.

The tears ran down my cheek, my eyes brightened red, and the feeling of being weighed down, crushed went on and on and on.

Eventually, I fell asleep.

I woke this morning with a lightness. A pride in allowing the feeling of loneliness to permeate and not running from it, like I’m primed to do.

And then I listened to the gateway tapes — one and two, and waited for my soul to leave my body.

It didn’t happen.

My soul stayed put.

Maybe it’s still weighed down from last night.

Astral projection didn’t arrive for me this morning.

The horoscopes say this is a time for gemini to release.

Boy, am I releasing.

I’m not sure what I’m releasing or where it’s going.

I feel lost.

I know what came before, but I don’t know how I got here, and I certainly don’t know where I’m going.

In the past, I always seemed to know where I wanted to go. I didn’t know how to get there, and I was unhappy I wasn’t there, and afraid I would never get there.

Now, I don’t even know where I want to go.

It’s like I have no desires left.

I don’t like where I am, but there’s nowhere I want to go.

Is that true?

Now I’m not even writing — I’m just journaling. This isn’t worthy of publishing or of anyone else reading.

Why do we need to know what to do with our lives?

I was listening to a podcast about awe this morning — how awe makes us feel small and like we’re a part of something bigger. How it make people more compassionate and kind when they experience awe.

Is that true for everyone?

Does awe make you feel a part of something larger, or does awe make you feel so small that you don’t even matter?

If you disappeared, it would be fine.

You will disappear one day, and it will be fine, and the world will continue to go on and exists as though you were never there.

The only people you matter to are the few people who love you — friends and family.

And when they’re gone, you’re gone for good.

The only ones who are immortal are the celebrities — the creators. The thinkers, writers, actors, artists. Their creations live on for eternity, if they were impactful enough.

Everyone has a chance to be one of them, but most people will not.

Awe is innate in humans — just as there as fear and hunger.

We don’t know if other animals experience awe.

The look on the owl’s face yesterday — his eyes — appeared full of awe.

Perhaps he was awestruck by something he saw?

What does all this mean for the meaning of humans?

Still nothing.

We’re still trying to make a life, make an impact, be remembered for our own narcissistic tendencies and fears of mortality.

Myself, included.

We go about our lives trying to experience pleasure and avoid pain.

And then one day we die and it’s all over.

But the things that used to bring pleasure don’t bring as much pleasure now.

And the absence of pleasure is pain.

Schopenhauer may have been right about the two poles — pleasure and boredom.

I never thought I would be bored.

There’s enough going on in my mind to keep boredom at bay. I’ve always been working on something, researching something, exploring something.

But when that future dims, and no desires come forth, when there is nothing to move towards, the boredom arrives.

For if you are not moving towards something, you are standing still.

You are firmly in the present.

They say to remain in the present to be content.

However, the present is where discontent lives because the present is so unexhilarating, so mundane, so monotonous.

The present is where you realize you are just a human on this earth with no purpose.

The present is where you ask yourself, why am I here?

The present feels like it goes on forever… with no reason and not pleasure.

Listen to the birds, the winds blowing through the trees and rustling the leaves, the dried leaves as the tumble across the ground, the whistling of the wind as it strikes just the right building at the right moment to let music slide out.

See the sun beams as it strikes the leaves on a bush, turning them into little bright lights of their own — nature’s leafy lamp.

Don’t think about the present moment.

Feel the present moment.

Feel, observe, and the restlessness magically disappears, if for a brief moment.

This is all so cliche — because cliches ring true.

I wrote this on January 3, 2026.

Three days later, my husband died by suicide.

When I read this now, I don’t know what to make of it.

I was writing about loneliness. About disappearing. About death. About not knowing what I wanted from the years ahead of me.

I had no idea how different those questions were about to become.

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