The Blank Page.

 

Limitless Possibility with no Compass

The Blank Page.  

The leather cushions supported her as she sat, cross-legged, on the bench. Her stomach grumbled as she stared blankly at the computer screen in front of her. She grimaced at the empty journal lying to its right. The wind whistled through the windows and rustled the small leaves of the puny plant she called Greg—the one she couldn’t remember if she’d watered or not.

Outside, pine trees wailed with squirrel chatter and blurted bird calls, seemingly mocking the trailer standing alone in the mountain yard.

The table was cluttered with the desk toppings she’d taken from her workstation at the dental office—just the day before. She thought she’d feel relief. Excitement. Instead, she squeezed her stomach in anguish.

Did I do the right thing?

It didn’t feel like she thought it would.

____________________________________________________________________________________

The week prior, leading up to this blank page, she’d been so certain. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She’d been filled with excitement, with eagerness. She felt like Walter from “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”. She’d quit her job—out of nowhere—and leap into the unknown, into a world of limitless possibility.

She had just finished “You Are a Badass”, and she was ready for her badassery!

She hit herself on the forehead. “You fool!” She buried her face in her hands.

“Everyone in the book wanted something. They were reaching for something. And what do you want? You don’t even know.”

All day, she had tried to do it right. She’d woken up with a strange sensation. A small cloud hanging over her.

This doesn’t feel right…

“No, stop! Silly goose, this is a great day!” she demanded. She shoved the uneasiness aside. Refused to let it get to her.

Yes—scary—but good!

She gave herself a nourishing breakfast. All day, she filled her ears with manifesting books as she ran errands and checked off chores. She knew in her soul she could do it. She could finally create her life. Make it whatever she wanted. Whatever her heart desired.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the car mirror.

“Good job, Walter,” she smiled, teeth beaming from ear to ear.

What was she doing? She didn’t know. But it was exciting. It was crazy. It was noteworthy. (Thank you again, Walter Mitty.)

____________________________________________________________________________________

After spending the whole day being productive and feeding her mind and soul, she flew home. Dashed through the door. Scribbled on a sticky note:

“I am strong, confident, and capable. I am serving of others. I am good to my mind, body, and soul.”

The mantra would keep her on track. Keep her grounded in future decisions.

She reached for a black tote bag from her car, labeled “Smile Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry”, and hauled it into the trailer—still obstructing the view of her parents’ house.

She was grateful to them. Grateful for their support, for countless opportunities. For the opportunity to make a decision as wild as this one.

She practically tore the bag open, moving with speed and purpose as she recreated her old desk setup atop the table in her dressing room. She jumped onto the leather cushions of the bench/bed.

She turned her small crystals to face just right. Angled the yellow office organizer to match her new blue-and-gold desk mat. Placed Greg in plain view. Kissed the little orangutan that sat nestled in its soil. And paused.

She was ready.

Ready for what?

She opened her laptop. Typed in her passcode. A tower in Japan flashed on the lock screen. Her vision board lit up her background. She hovered over Chrome. Moved the mouse to Microsoft Word. Uncertainty tainted her mind.

No—first, she would write her desires. Manifest her life. Define it.

She yanked a journal from her backpack. Grabbed her feels-good-in-your-hand-and-writes-with-astounding-beauty pen.

And…

Ready for what?

She knew some things. 

Yoga. Dancing. Snowboarding. Reading. Fitness. Great clothes. She went to art walks and markets and bought what she wanted. She could play the fiddle well. She had her own place. She could afford dog training, trips to see friends, travel. She was always learning. Spoke multiple languages…

But.

“How does that help me?” she whispered.

“What do I do? How do I make money? How do I live? How do I eat? What do I eat? What do I do?”

Questions were now bombarding her mind in a fog of confusion.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Ready for what?

She didn’t know.

The unease she’d pushed down all day began to rise. Thick and real.  Her dad’s voice echoed in the back of her mind: “Good luck with that.” What had she done all of this for? She had no desires. No specific dream to chase. No finish line to run toward.

“What am I doing?”

“Why did I quit my job?”

“What… am I doing?”

Her stomach whined.

Her phone pinged. A text from her dad:

“I assume no rent from you for the time being, correct?”

No! Money comes to me!

She breathed. She manifested.

I don’t need to worry.

She didn’t think she was lying.

I can do this. I can do anything.

She believed it. She did.

Doubt knocked again. Harder this time.

She looked at her phone, unsure what to reply.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Tickling

She set the phone down.

The wind had died a little, but Greg’s leaves still shivered. Or maybe it was just her.

The journal lay open on the table now, a blank page staring up at her like a dare. Her pen hovered above it. Nothing moved. Nothing came.

Or-no. That wasn’t true.

Something did come.

A dusty day in a foreign country. Her camera swinging around her neck. People’s stories in her notebook. A press pass clipped to her bag.

And then.

A dimly lit studio, script pages scattered, her name in the credits.

She blinked.

And then, without knowing why, she wrote:

“I want…”

She paused.

Her fingers trembled. Not from fear. From the pressure. The weight of the question.

What do you want?

A faint memory bubbled up—accidental, almost. Not a dream. Not yet. Just a moment:

A woman on the news, standing in a war zone. Dust on her lens. Voice calm. Steady. Honest. The world behind her breaking apart, but she stood there, telling the truth. She told the story.

Then another flicker: a behind-the-scenes video she’d seen once—Hollywood chaos, wires and crew and yelling—and at the center of it, a woman laughing, clipboard in hand, calling shots. Building a world from nothing.

Her stomach clenched. But it wasn’t hunger this time. It was something else.

She drew a shaky line beneath her first words.

I want… to tell stories. Real ones. With pictures. With people. With film. With light. With truth. I want to make people feel.

She stared at it.

The trailer was still. The wind held its breath.

It was terrifying to see the words on the page.

She didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t know the first thing about producing a movie. But for the first time all day, she felt something like oxygen.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered aloud.

But the pictures didn’t fade. They tickled. They stayed.

There were flickers-tiny embers she hadn’t dared fan yet.

She leaned back on the leather cushions. The pen slid from her hand.

What if this was it?

The tickle was there again, stronger this time. Not a full fire—but a spark.

And that was enough.

At least she hoped it was enough…