I felt empty. I felt nothing. I felt no inclination to say yes or no, to ask another question or devise another strategy for success or resolve. Faced with an unexpected opportunity, spending more than a week wrestling and wrangling, I found myself one Saturday morning as empty as my dried up fountain pen. There was nothing more to work with–a blank page with no ink.
I felt emptier, though. Empty like the Grand Canyon–big, wide and utterly vacant. I surveyed the strata, looking up at a week’s worth of possible ways to yes, layers upon layers of ideas and “Maybe this will work” and “This impasse seems insurmountable” and other veins of exploration on the matter. But looking up at all the formations, attempted and failed, made me feel further on the bottom of it all.
This emptiness was familiar.