The weird thing about life
is that you’re always
in the middle of it.

Whether you’re starting
a new job, or starting
a family, or ending
a relationship or moving
to a different place,
you’re still right in
the thick of your life.

The only true
beginning and ending
are birth and death.

So, it seems that
with regard to life,
we are like an author
who is at an impasse;

They know the beginning
of their story, and they
know how they want
it to end, but they have
intense difficulty with
the middle.

How does the
protagonist get to the
point where she meets
her true love, or get
that job promotion he’s
worked for his whole life?
How do the adventurers
find the buried treasure?
How does the ax murderer
ultimately perform his perfect ****?

The middle is the most crucial part.

It’s also the part that is
hardest to get through,
as a reader and a writer.
We are either desperately
wanting to know what
happens at the end, or
reveling in the simplicity
of the beginning.

Life is the same way.
I miss the simplicity of my
“beginning.”
You know, the part of life
where you’re confident
in yourself, and where you
just love everyone
around you.

You’re not cynical,
or jaded,
and you know
you’ve got a huge
expanse of life ahead of you.

I also long for the “end.”
Not death, necessarily, but
the part of my life that is
predictable, and safe.
I want to know that
I’m going to be okay.

I want to know that the
way I feel right now
isn’t the way I’ll always feel.

The way I feel right now
is what makes trudging
through this middling
part of time so horrendous.

But
it's what gives me
the hope that I can write
a spectacular ending.