Standing Between Endings & Beginnings

Right now, my life plan has a very specific expiration date: August 15th. That’s the last day on the calendar I can see with any clarity. After that, the picture fades into fog. I don’t have a clear outline of what’s next—no home, no job lined up, no set path. And while that kind of groundlessness can be terrifying, it’s also oddly exciting.

Buddhism has taught me that this state—this groundlessness—is actually the truth of life.. It’s always present whether we recognize it or not. We like to believe we have our feet on solid ground, but that’s a comforting illusion. Life has a way of reminding us—through illness, loss, or sudden change—that nothing is fixed. We’re all floating. We just usually don’t notice until the rug gets pulled out.

But in my case, the rug wasn’t yanked away. I folded it up myself.

I chose this. I left my job. I sold my house. I’m stepping away from a 27-year career in healthcare to pursue a love: art. That choice didn’t come lightly. I’ve spent years laying the foundation—building connections, living frugally, saying yes to opportunities that align with my goals. And now I’ve done all I can do. The rest is up to the universe.

People have had all kinds of reactions. Some call it brave—especially from someone like me, who has been deemed a stress monkey. Others raise an eyebrow and toss out a sarcastic “Good luck with that.” Honestly, I’ve grappled with both of those reactions internally. I’m somewhere in between feeling brave and feeling a little bit wild.

Today is my last day of work—possibly my last day in healthcare. The closing on my house happens in just a few days. And in a few weeks, I begin an internship at Hatch Show Print, something I could only dream of not that long ago.

This weekend, a thought kept circling in my mind like a mantra:
“As of Thursday, I will be homeless and jobless—and I feel great about it.”

And I do. Not because it’s easy. Not because I’m sure it will all work out perfectly. But because it’s mine. This is a life I’ve chosen, not one that’s happening to me. I’ve given myself permission to trust—not just the universe, but also myself.

I don’t know exactly what comes next. But for now, I’m standing in the space between endings and beginnings, with no ground beneath my feet.