Until about a month ago.

Most of my days started before I actually woke up.

Because whilst I was asleep.

I’d replaying conversations.

Unpick problems.

Alphabetise my worries.

Count the money I have.

(And don’t have).

And generally explore what I should be feeling most or least guilty about right now.

All of that and more.

As I slept.

Empty Room. 

These days however.

I awake to a much scarier thing.

Much scarier than the echo of conversations, problems, worries, financial conundrums and guilt hierarchies.

I wake in an empty room.

Possibility.

Don’t get me wrong.

The bailiff hasn’t been round.

What I mean is that my head is emptier.

Because my life is emptier.

Short commutes, long commutes, face-to-face meetings, events, queues and pubs.

They’ve all gone.

So there’s more room.

There’s more time.

More time for my imaginary shoes to click, click, click around the imaginary empty room inside my head.

Staring at the blank walls.

Wondering what to hang there.

Staring at the empty floor space in the corners of this empty room.

Wondering what to place there.

And staring at the door ahead of me in this empty room.

The closed door.

Wondering what is on the other side.

And scariest of all.

Opening my mind to the idea that the person who decides what is on the other side.

Is me.

Everything.

Now that everything has changed.

Now that everyone has changed.

I question everything.

Who am I?

Where am I?

Where am I going?

Do I actually really know anyone that is in my life as I remember it?

Do I actually really like anyone that is in my life as I remember it?

And then I think again about the scariest question of all.

As I stare back to the door.

And question what is on the other side.

The Door.

My door is a deep red coloured door, by the way.

In stark contrast to the white walls.

And it has a doorknob.

Not a handle.

Yours may be different, of course.

Closed.

As I write this.

The door is still closed.

I am worried about what is on the other side.

I am excited about what is on the other side.

The excitement is a physical thing, by the way.

And it is bigger than the worry.

I am wide eyed.

Breathing deeply.

The corners of my mouth turned up ever-so-slightly.

Stood only an arm’s length from the closed door, now.

My mind still imagining what is on the other side.

Excited.

I know why I am excited.

It’s because I have the room to think.

Literally.

This gift I have.

At this horrible time.

Is this empty room.

Room to think.

Room to move from imagining what is on the other side of the door.

Towards creating what is on the other side of the door.

And I am excited because I know that if I can create it in my head.

I can create it on the other side of the door.

I know that this is true for me.

Because I’ve done it before.

The Door. 

OK.

I think I have it.

I say to myself.

As I reach out for the door knob.

Smiling.

And I begin to turn it clockwise.

Slowly.

With a click.

See you on the other side.

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