The Empty

Part One: The Photograph

I am not writing from the summit.

I am writing from the trail.

I am not reflecting on emptiness after I’ve conquered. 

I am documenting what it feels like while I’m still inside.

I want to be clear about this distinction.

Because there is a temptation when we write about difficult experiences to wait until we have figured them out. I have not!

We wait to write or share experiences until there is a lesson.

A resolution. A tidy ending. Something useful to offer. I just don’t have that.

What I have is an experience that is still unfolding.

What I have are questions that continue to outnumber the answers.

What I have is the growing awareness that something within me has shifted, even though I cannot fully explain what that shift means yet.

Perhaps that’s why I keep returning to this photograph.

It was a mistake, a click of the shutter when in my pocket.  I wasn’t trying to create art.

I wasn’t trying to tell a story.

I wasn’t even trying to document a feeling.

Yet somehow that is exactly what happened, when looking back in my photo library.

At first glance, it looks like almost nothing. And it really is - nothing.  

There is no horizon. There is no destination. No person. No beginning. No ending. Just a field of gray.

But there is a story. My story, in real time.

When I first looked at it, I couldn’t understand why it held my attention. Particularly because it was a mistake.

There was nothing obvious to see. Nothing asking to be admired. Nothing revealing itself.

The longer I sat with it, the more uncomfortable it became. Like looking in a mirror.

There seemed to be a presence. And that presence is absence. My ahaha moment. That's when I self-identified. I'm empty. Emptiness is my feeling. And as daunting as that sounds and is. I felt relief.

This wasn’t just a photograph.

This was the feeling.

This was the experience I had been trying and failing to describe.

Not sadness. Not grief.

Not despair. Not devastation.

Not even depression, at least not in the way people commonly describe it.

Something else.

A loss of edges.

A loss of definition.

A landscape that no longer felt familiar.

The strange experience of looking at your own life and not quite knowing where you are standing within it.

The things that normally create excitement, momentum, curiosity, creativity, and anticipation had become difficult to access.

Gone. Lost. And in my mind devastatingly, destroyed.

At the very least, obscured.

Like looking through fog.

Like reaching toward something that should be within arm’s reach and finding distance instead.

What strikes me now is that the image is not black. It isn’t darkness.

It isn’t emptiness in the way I would have imagined emptiness.

There are layers.

Subtle shifts in color.

Movements hidden inside stillness.

Texture. Variation. Even traces of light.

You don’t see them immediately.

Your eyes have to adjust.

Perhaps that is true of this experience as well.

Maybe part of the discomfort comes from wanting immediate understanding.

Wanting to know where this leads.

Wanting a name.

A reason. A timeline. A solution.

Instead, there is uncertainty.

But there is awareness.

There is the uncomfortable realization that something is changing, before you know what it is, or what it is becoming.

That is where I find myself today.

Not at the end of the story.

Not at the beginning either.

I’m on the trail.

Learning. Learning that recognition often arrives before understanding.

Learning that some experiences refuse to be rushed. And can happen out of nowhere.

The photograph doesn’t offer answers. Neither do I. Gray and empty is the feeling, for now.

Part Two: Self-Discovery

Once I recognized it, I celebrated.

The photograph gave the feeling a name.

Emptiness.

Even writing the word feels uncomfortable. Heavy. Dramatic. A bit excruciating if I’m being honest. Because - "who" is just, empty?!?!

Because emptiness sounds like something has been taken away, removed, discarded.

Like a deficiency. Like a void.

Some of those descriptions feel accurate. But not necessarily - spot on.

“Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why I can’t access myself.”

Life hasn't stopped.

My responsibilities haven't disappeared. The people I love are still here. Work is still here. The dishes are still in the dishwasher. The bills are still arriving.

The world has not paused to accommodate whatever is happening inside me.

This may be part of what made the experience so difficult to identify. Nothing looked different. Everything looked the same. I looked the same. My days looked the same.

The routines remained largely intact. Yet something fundamental had shifted.

Writing became harder.

I have ideas. I have plenty.

The ideas never stopped.

The connection to them did.

Projects waited. Drafts sat untouched. Thoughts remained trapped somewhere between intention and action.

Conversations required more effort. My desire to be around people waned. Decisions required more effort.

Even things I genuinely wanted to do felt strangely inaccessible. That was perhaps the most frustrating part.

The desire still existed. But not enough to put into action. No execution capability existed any longer. I cared because that's who I am. But I didn't care to act, as it felt inauthentic.

I just couldn’t seem to access the part of myself that knew what to do with that care. And how to give that care movement.

So, I started searching for explanations.

Exhaustion. Burnout. Stress.

Age. Circumstances. Motivation.

Discipline. Attitude. Mindset.

I tried on every explanation I could find. None of them fit completely.

My mind became exceptionally skilled at asking questions.

The answers remained stubbornly absent. And then deep confusion settled in. Frustration followed. Then guilt.

Guilt for not doing more. Guilt for not feeling differently.

Guilt for watching time pass while feeling unable to engage with it the way I wanted.

There was also disappointment. Restlessness.

Impatience. A resentment toward myself for not being able to simply snap out of it.

Most days felt/feel suspended.

Some essential part of me had stepped away from the controls and left me observing from a distance.

Present. Functional. Participating. But disconnected.

There is a particular “empty” in not understanding your own experience.

Especially when the experience is happening inside your own mind.

I want clarity.

I want certainty.

I want a breakthrough. A little bit of a breakthrough did happen.

But I also wanted enlightenment to arrive, tap me on the shoulder, and explain what was happening, without ambiguity.

Instead, what I received was awareness. And the ability to name my dysfunction as "the empty".

There is also the keen awareness that something is changing.

Awareness that some motivations no longer carried the same weight.

Awareness that certain expectations I had for my life, my work, and myself are beginning to shift and loosen, potentially needing rediscovery and some tightening.

I am definitely aware now that I am standing somewhere unfamiliar.

Nowhere I have been.

Not sure where this will lead me. But one thing is apparent, a shift is happening and I'm going to need to pivot accordingly.

I wish I could tell you this story ends with some profound wisdom. It doesn’t.

Not yet.

I wish I could tell you I have solved the puzzle.

I might be moving in the right direction, but identifying is happening in real time. I'm still wading through it all.

The answers remain incomplete. The future remains unwritten. The landscape remains somewhat gray.

What has changed is that I no longer believe I am fighting something invisible.

I can see it now. I can acknowledge it. I can sit beside it.

Some days I move through it.

Some days I simply sit with it.

For now, that is enough.

The well is refilling and not so empty any longer.