I Don't Know What I'm Doing

...and other confessions of a virgin vagabond

“Often, the first doorway to a deeper layer of rest is the common experience of a kind of divine discomfort — the sense that things aren’t quite as they should be and that whatever is needed, we don’t have it within us, or that it lies beneath a too troubled surface inside us.” — David Whyte

Last night, I stood outside my van staring up at the beautiful starfield that covered the North Carolina sky like a loving blanket, or perhaps a song. I pondered this new life I’ve chosen, a vagabond’s life, living full time in a van (down by the river yes ha ha), itinerant and open, feeling my way down each new road, hopeful, wide-eyed, looking for miracles.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I chuckled aloud to the stars, and to myself. I don’t know much about this new life I’ve chosen, but I’m right about that part, and, for reasons I’m still straining to understand, I think that’s actually the point.