Living Purgatory
There are days when I feel like I’m not really living my life so much as orbiting it. Like I’m circling something I can’t quite touch. A ghost with too many keys, none of which fit the lock.
I keep seeing these threads. Choices, ideas, passions, projects. Some are old, frayed from years of dreaming. Others appear out of nowhere, shimmering with newness and promise. But every time I grab one, I let it slip. Not because I’m lazy. Not because I’m afraid of work. Because the moment I commit, another thread catches my eye. One I didn’t even know existed. One that might be better. So I let go. Again. And again.
I’m not lost because I don’t have a destination. I’m lost because I have too many. My mind races through possibilities like a storm of static, and I can’t find the volume knob.
Maybe this is what living purgatory feels like. Not pain. Not peace. Just endless possibility with no clear path. Just enough motion to exhaust me, never enough to move me forward.
But maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. Maybe the threads aren’t meant to be held forever. Maybe they’re not lifelines—they’re brushstrokes. Fleeting, chaotic, beautiful. Maybe I’m not supposed to untangle the painting. Maybe I’m supposed to make it messier.
Today, I won’t wait for clarity. I’ll pick one thread. Not because it’s the right one, but because I can. I’ll follow it. Not to completion, but to movement. One week. That’s all. I owe myself at least that much. One week of believing this thread leads somewhere.
Let the others wait. They’re not going anywhere. But I am.