This morning I saw my therapist and, in the midst of going through my list of things to talk about, got derailed. Even though I hadn’t planned on discussing it, I jumped on a tangent about this blog and how it’s coming to a close. (I only have 22 blogs including this one until 1,000, then 13 weeks and 6 days until THE END). “I feel like I’m entering lame-duck territory,” I said. “It’s scary. This project has been such a touchstone and healing force in my life, and I have no idea what’s coming next. I’m flailing.”

My therapist said she understood how intimidating transitions can be, AND that even if I don’t continue to blog here daily, I’ve planted A LOT of seeds. “Any number of other projects could EASILY grow out of what you’ve started,” she said. “For example, a book.” Oh my gosh, y’all, when I think about all the things I could do with what I’ve learned thanks to this blog, my mind absolutely flies. I could go on for days, in any number of formats, about how this discipline has turned my life around and upside down for the better. Recently my mom told me that although all my posts are good (thanks, Mom), they’ve really been “exceptional” lately. “You’re in the groove,” she said. “Your writing is seamless. The blog’s done for you what you wanted it to.” That is to say, it’s given me a successful writing practice. Even more, it’s given me myself.

This, of course, has been worth all the effort, time, and money spent.

I guess I’m afraid that when my last “in a row” blog is posted I’ll somehow lose everything I’ve gained. There’s a certain sadness, a heaviness that’s been stalking me, a grief I often feel when I return home from a fabulous vacation. It says, “Crap, the show is over. What now?” It says, “What if we never feel that way again?” At the same time, there’s a certain high, a sense of pride that says, “Hot damn, we did it. Not matter what happens from this point forward, we did it. Nobody can ever take that away.” Perhaps this mix of emotions is what newlyweds feel when the honeymoon is over and people start asking when in god’s name they’re going to begin popping out children. Everyone’s so focused on what’s going to happen after. It’s so difficult to be right here, right now, to sit with whatever arises–excitement, wonder, despair, confusion–on the first day, on the last day.

In Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino’s character sings, “Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and still have the feeling that you wanted to stay?” I totally get this “I want to hold on but also want to let go” feeling. Despite my deep affection for this project, as I imagine reaching 1,000 and, at the end of March, 1,095 posts, I picture an enormous weight being lifted off of my shoulders. Y’all, this daily-writing and baring-my-soul-on-the-internet bullshit has been and continues to be my choice, and, as I’ve said ad nauseam, it’s all too often exhausting. As these last three years have played host to the the most challenging health crises I’ve ever face, there have been days when life has simply been “too much” and the last thing I wanted to do was take to the web and be honest. Because it’s always easier to run and hide. This being said, I don’t recommend running and hiding. For one thing, there’s nowhere to go.

For another, you’ve gotta meet yourself sooner or later. After all, you’re with yourself all the time. You’re the one you wake up with, the one who tucks you in at night.

People say it’s the journey, not the destination. As a goal-oriented, results-focused person, I hate this. But it’s true. Since starting this project I’ve often fantasized about having so many readers or–I should be so lucky–a certain amount of monetary compensation for my efforts. (Any would be nice). Still, there are bloggers with millions of readers and authors with millions of dollars who nonetheless feel like they haven’t arrived. But how could they–how could any of us–get “there”? Again, there’s nowhere to go. There’s only “here.”

This afternoon I listened to a fabulous talk by Caroline Myss about Alice in Wonderland, and one of my takeaways was that the point of any hero’s or heroine’s journey is changing your inner world, not your outer one. The mystical and ironic consequence of changing your inner world being that–surprise!–your outer world changes too. It has to. At the very least it will look different than it did before (less scary, more manageable, ever so much more enchanting), and this is the same thing. Perception determines your experience of reality.

Along these lines, since we use words to frame our experiences, Caroline suggests flipping your language script. For example, instead of thinking of my health issues as Problems or Challenges, I could–and often do–think of them as Opportunities (to learn about myself, heal, and connect with others), Adventures (who knows what will happen next!), or Initiations (into the Greater Mysteries of life). I’ve often blogged about Going Down the Rabbit Hole, and this is what I’m talking about. Any Hero’s Journey that’s worth it salt will turn everything in your life upside down, including the way you think and talk about your experiences. This doesn’t happen because the universe is bored and feels like shaking up your life the way a toddler shakes up a snow globe. Rather, it happens because, from your soul’s perspective, your world’s been wrong-side up for a while now and it’s simply time to set things right-side up. This looks and feels like Chaos to you and me, a falling apart, but to the gods–well–it’s a Grace, a putting things back together. Our endings are our beginnings.