By the time this month ends, I'll have completed a number of tasks that will have changes my life completely. Each one, alone, is a gamechanger; cumulatively, they amount to a significant shift in the landscaping of my existence.
I've had a number of weeks of wrangling, tying up of loose ends, legal paperwork, government bureaucracy and immense personal upheaval. My personal status on a number of levels has shifted irrevocably. I moved out of my old business premises; with the addition of my whole professional life altering in the process. I had an operation; small, routine, elective - but one that, ultimately, without hyperbole, was life-changing.
Every fragment of my life as I have come to know it, I have watched shatter around me, every tiny shard further exploding in slow motion into another thousand pieces. With every change I saw, and see, happening, my heart simultaneously breaks, and yet, is healed again. While absolutely necessary, this accelerated and continuous cycle of breaking and making is draining. The changes are not hard in themselves; it's the transition. Every step is in the right direction, but that does not make the cumulative footfall painless. It's like running through fire to reach a placid lake that isn't yet quite in my sight. And yet, I have to keep believing it's there, just on the other side.
For every moment I feel the breathlessness of fear or the stabbing ache of self-doubt, there is an hour where I know that complete resolution and gained strength will be the legacy of this chapter. That does not mean that those moments don't exist, and just because they haven't overwhelmed me, doesn't mean they aren't overwhelming.
My point is not to smile through it all blithely, and fake joy in place of pain. We must feel these things in order eventually to reach our destination. It really is ok not to be ok. Every agony is finite, every corner will be turned.
But there are days, days like today, where it nearly feels like too much, where the doubt penetrates that little deeper, and the fear grasps, cold-fingered, right inside my throat. Days where I can't even remember my own advice, let alone take it, and I have no more strength to smile.
Days that always end. Days where I realise that nothing lasts forever, in every possible way. If it hurts, if it's pain, if it's fear or doubt or sadness, then even that will end, too. Always moving forward means always looking forward - and there's absolutely nothing to stop us.