The Space Between
There’s something peaceful about the ocean at night.
You can hear it — endless, certain — even if you can’t see it.
That’s what this chapter feels like.
Grounded, but fleeting.
Calm, but filled with wonder.
For the first time in a long time, floating feels okay.
I’ve spent most of my life searching — for safety, clarity, direction.
But lately I’ve learned that you can’t always see what’s ahead,
and maybe that’s the whole point.
The unknown used to scare me.
Now it feels like possibility.
Like standing at the edge of something new,
without the need to name it yet.
Most days, it’s the smaller things that keep me grounded —
being in my home, a space I’ve turned into my own kind of sanctuary.
The sound of soju’s paws on the floor when I walk through the front door,
the light that drifts across the walls in the early morning,
music filling each room while I move through them,
alone but not lonely — just whole.
That’s when I feel the most like me, the most like myself.
I’m learning to break my old patterns.
To respect myself enough to give myself what I want.
To wait for the kind of connection that feels like a spotlight right over me —
To be seen— not just for who I am, but for who I’m becoming.
Someone who knows their worth and can recognize mine.
I can be calm, but it takes work.
There are walls, and I know where they come from.
I’m still learning how to be soft again.
There was a time when softness came easily for me —
when I led with it.
I miss that version of myself sometimes.
And yet, I know he’s still here —
quietly waiting beneath the surface.
What roots me now is quieter than it used to be.
It’s not a person or a plan —
it’s trust.
Faith.
The quiet knowing that I’ve survived enough to understand I’ll always be okay.
I know myself — the strength, the softness, the way I rise.
And that’s enough.
There’s a deep peace in that kind of faith —
the kind that doesn’t ask for proof,
only presence.
So I float.
Somewhere between where I’ve been and where I’m going —
listening for the sound of the waves in the dark,
reminding me that even when I can’t see what’s next,
I’m still being carried.
Because the space between isn’t empty after all —
it’s moonlight on dark water.
The quiet shimmer that reminds me
that even in the deepest night,
a small patch of light can guide me home.
xx