If you’re lucky, which you are, you come out the other side of this twice the person you are right now. If you’re lucky, which you are, this will one day seem like a very special and fortunate time for you, not despite, but because of the sadness and the gaping holes and the crying in the grocery store. I used to think The Time was this crazy suffering in my life, but now it glitters against the rest of my narrative like a diamond in the dark. We are made to, built to, go through times such as these. And if you can, you hold on to that notion, like a little buoy in the ocean you are now in. The Time will give you more than you bargain for, more than you ask for, more than you can reckon with.
I call it The Time because there is a lapse between your lives where you do nothing but survive, take sips of breath, move forward in minutes. I read it in a book my roommate gave me that I slept with during that summer, pages in the morning to make sure I was still alive. She called it a canyon, a place you must cross in order to meet the next version of your life, the next evolution of you. I held onto this, this tiny flame, and I clawed my way, inched forward into the often terrifying unknown. And if you can keep this tiny flame lit, then you keep on. There is even in your sadness, a sliver of what is to come, a guilty sliver of hope and even dare you say some moments, excitement.
It is only recently that I look back on that summer and think of it fondly, even enviously, because it was real and raw around the edges, and I was so alone my own breath echoed in my bedroom. My thinking so much of this was triggered by your phone calls but also by this batch of pictures showed up from a weekend in Montana I still write about. Those few days shook me loose from The Time, and showed me with every sense capable that not only was I going to be okay, but I had somehow in that canyon become more, better, and a truer version of myself. I am the woman I am because I went wandering all alone in the darkest places of myself and sought out what I truly wanted in this life.
But, none of this will matter though if you are down there, because words cannot get through. Nothing can get through. Take peace in small things because they will carry you to the other side, read a book to forget who you are, stay sober if you can, hurt the good hurt. And try only to find that sliver, that flicker, and move toward it, claw toward, inch day by day toward the life that is waiting for you.
THE LITTLE BLACQUE BLOG 
Isn’t it crazy how the universe works?
One minute I’m wanderlusting on Instragram. Then I’m looking at Dylan Gordon’s photos. Then I’m looking at your photos. Then I’m looking at your blog. Then I’m realizing that this post is exactly what I need.
I’m in The Time and it’s raw and terrifying and lonely and sometimes I think about the uncertainty that is my future and I can’t breathe. I have no idea what I want in this life and that saddens me profoundly and I’m disappointed that I’ve grown so far from my true self that I don’t even know who she is anymore. And yet, I know (and was reminded of this by this piece) that there is a life waiting for me – all I have to do is follow the flicker.
Thanks for sharing this writing. Don’t know how the hell I stumbled upon it but am grateful that I did.
The world grows infinitely smaller. I’m happy you found your way here. Its my little corner of the internet, and I’ve been happily writing here for like 8 years or something crazy. If you’d like to read more pieces form my time and watch me work my way through it, read the pieces in the archives that start in late May 2015 and go through that summer. It’s a glorious time you’re in, though it doesn’t feel that way while you’re in it. Anchor to the little things, and their goodness will ferry you through. Best.
Thank you Erin. Your words resonate so strongly with me as I’m in my own “canyon” now. It’s been a year since a divorce, from someone whom I still care deeply but in our union, had lost myself. We are still friends, share our dog, and have light hearted conversations that usually leave me in a weeping mess of bewilderment for a few hours and yes, crying, in the grocery store, in the job, in my lover’s bed, in my car etc., etc. I try to feel it all because I’ve heard it will help move those feelings along. But your words: “And try only to find that sliver, that flicker, and move toward it, claw toward, inch day by day toward the life that is waiting for you” has brought me up from the bottom to face that far canyon wall. Your words have whispered to me that even though I may have momentarily forgotten the reasons I left a year ago that there is a better life ahead, that I need to focus on those little nuggets of happiness and keep climbing. Again, thank you.
Lulu- I am not sure why the site hadn’t shown me my comments in so long, but I am just now reading this. And I want to both thank you for reaching out and for reading, and for allowing my words to be a salve for you. It is not always easy to let someone else’s advice in and never easy to walk alone. I hope this finds you well and that your slivers have become full moments and maybe even entire afternoons. All of the love, from my aching heart to yours. -Erin Rose
I want to print this and keep it close to never forget about The Time once I manage to get out of it alive and well 🙂 thank you Rose for sharing and putting into words things like this that remind us we are not the only ones. Greetings from Berlin!
thank you thank you. I hope this finds you well and that you have today a new vantage point than you might have had last fall. It is interesting how when we are in it, we can fail to see there will be another side to it. It never gets easier, but it does change.
All of the love-