The Edge of Tomorrow

Dear Diary,

As the year winds down, I find myself in a strange, liminal space—neither here nor there, suspended between what was and what could be. Life feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to shift. I sit quietly with my thoughts, sifting through the weight of the past and the haze of an uncertain future. It’s strange how time moves so quickly, yet feels frozen when you’re unsure of your footing. Each day feels like a small eternity, both too fast and too slow, a paradox that leaves me feeling detached, as if I’m watching my own life unfold from a distance.

This year has been heavy in ways I never expected. There’s been so much to juggle—emotions running on parallel tracks, responsibilities that refuse to wait, and this ever-present, lingering sense of not knowing where I’m headed. It feels like walking a tightrope with no safety net beneath me. Every step forward feels shaky, unsure if the rope will hold or if I’ll fall into the unknown. It’s as if I’m suspended in mid-air, unsure whether I’m falling or just waiting for something to catch me. The uncertainty of it all, the constant balancing act between survival and growth, leaves me feeling both exhausted and restless.

I left a place that once felt like home but had slowly become something else entirely—something stifling, heavy, and toxic. The weight of that environment was oppressive, and yet, there’s a strange nostalgia that clings to me, whispering that part of me still belongs there. That departure was both a relief and a grief I hadn’t anticipated. I thought I would be free the moment I walked away, but the echoes of those moments still linger, rising at the oddest times to remind me of what I endured and what I left behind. It’s not just a place I left; it’s a chapter of myself I had to close, even if it hurt. A part of me feels lost, as if I’ve discarded pieces of myself along the way, and I’m left to wonder who I am without those pieces.

For now, I’m in this borrowed space, surrounded by familiar faces, yet acutely aware that this is only temporary. There’s a ticking clock in the back of my mind, counting down to the moment when I’ll need to move again, to figure out where I’m going and how I’ll get there. It’s as though I’m just passing through this phase of my life, waiting for the next chapter to unfold. The thought of starting over feels as daunting as it is necessary. I wonder where to begin when the future feels like a question mark, a blank page I’m too afraid to write on. Every time I try to envision what comes next, my mind pulls me back into doubt, unsure of what I want or even what I need.

I try to remind myself that uncertainty isn’t always a bad thing—it’s a blank page, after all. A space where something new can begin, even if I don’t yet know what that something is. But the emptiness can be overwhelming, the silence deafening. Still, I hold on to the idea that the unknown isn’t something to fear. It’s an opportunity for change, for growth, for transformation. But the weight of not having a clear direction makes it hard to see the possibilities sometimes. I wonder if this is how seeds feel—buried deep in the soil, waiting for the right moment to grow, unsure when the light will come. The waiting, the darkness, the uncertainty—it’s all part of the process. But it’s hard to remind myself of that when the present feels so uncertain.

Sometimes, I think about how I’m supposed to navigate through all of this, especially when I feel like I’m drifting. The future seems like an abstract idea, a destination that is far too distant to see clearly. Each day, I try to ground myself, to focus on what I can control, but it feels like the rug keeps getting pulled from under me. There are days when I feel like I’m barely hanging on, when my thoughts race faster than I can catch them, and I wonder if I’ll ever reach a place where I feel settled again.

But I don’t want to dwell too long in this in-between space, though. I’ve been trying to hold on to the idea that even if the path ahead isn’t clear, there is a path. There’s always a path. One step at a time, I remind myself. Just one step forward. Each step, even if it feels like it’s in the dark, brings me closer to where I need to be. Maybe it’s not about finding the perfect path; maybe it’s about trusting that the path will reveal itself if I keep moving forward. I can’t stand still forever. I can’t live in this uncertainty forever.

And maybe that’s the lesson I need to learn: that the answers won’t come all at once, but they will come. That growth doesn’t happen in a straight line, and it doesn’t happen on a set timetable. It happens in fits and starts, in moments of clarity and in moments of doubt. And maybe it’s in those moments of doubt that I’ll find the courage to keep going. I won’t have it all figured out right now, and maybe that’s okay. There’s no rush, no deadline for personal growth.

I also realize that it’s okay to be uncertain, to feel like I’m not where I should be. The pressure to always know the next step is suffocating. Sometimes, just being present is enough. Just showing up every day, even if it feels like I’m not making progress, is still progress. I have to trust that this phase, this fog of uncertainty, will lift eventually. I just need to keep moving through it.

For now, all I can do is hope. Hope that I’ll find my footing. Hope that the new year will bring clarity. Hope that somehow, in the uncertainty, I’ll stumble into something I can finally call my own—a sense of peace, a sense of purpose, or even just a sense of belonging. Hope that the answers will come, even if they take their time. It’s all part of the journey, after all. The road isn’t always clear, but if I keep walking, I believe I’ll get there eventually.

So, here’s to hoping. To trusting the process. To walking into the unknown with the faith that, somehow, it will all come together in the end. One step at a time.

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Nazy Ann🖋️