Whenever it's hard for me to find words, I stop what I'm doing. It's difficult to find your bearings while you're still moving. It's tough to make meaning of personal and collective pain, of choosing to follow the threads your heart is spinning until things stand still. Your stomach will lurch, your depth perception will lead you astray. Wait until the world is no longer wobbling like a top.
Today, what I have to tell you is look to your past. Overturn the stones, brush the dust off your records and journals, pull out the abandoned paintings, the half-finished sewing or sheet music or whatever your particular passion was. Unfold the crumpled map of you and notice which cities within you have thrived, the rivers that still glide over old stone, the ghost towns that pushed you away from what you had outgrown. See what is still there for you. Find out what is on the other side of what you have forgotten.