I’m hovering in some immense space; practically nonexistent, blissfully immersed in this intense calm, a constant humming certainty, like if there were a white noise machine that were whispering algorithmic equations into a room full of chalkboards. There’s darkness all around me, but I can see, or sense, into it. In an instant, I have this crisp feeling like crawling out from underneath a down comforter after 7 solid hours of sleep to stand in cold, empty room and I’m covered in spidery tingles. Without moving an inch, I’ve suddenly appeared out of nowhere. In the dark, it’s not that there is light, it’s that I am light. But no physical form. I try to blink, no eyes. Try to reach out and touch the air, no hands. I gasp from panic but even my chest feels empty. No stomach to turn. I am and I am not. The nothing moves right through me.

To the heartache of those who love me, against their advice, against all odds, oblivious or indifferent to signs of turning back or impending obstacles, I skip gayly, stagger blindly, or even sometimes scratch and crawl with spiteful determination down this path that others disdainfully refer to as “the hard way.”