Driving home from a trip to the yoga studio where I arrived two minutes too late and was greeted by a locked door, and actively trying to resist the urge to berate myself, I stop in place, put the car in park, roll down my window, and try to capture the moon hovering over the neighborhood lights. In my rush, everything blurs and I don't have time to take another because I see in my rear-view mirror a car moving steadily closer. Now, the soft, fuzzy lights seem appropriate. As I look ahead, down this winding road I'm traveling along, much about my future seems blurry. Steven's absence in my day-to-day life has been unsettling; being responsible for him has been the work of my life since age 21 and this new reality has me rethinking everything. Yes, Nick is still at home and I still have plenty to learn from him, but he has a different level of support and it isn't just the two of us; I feel responsible for him in a less complete way. I have time to contemplate the state of our world, my contributions to it, my shortcomings, the pros and the cons of each relationship I have with another human, and what interactions in my life give me energy and what interactions leave me drained. I am walking toward the gateway to a new era - I turn 40 next month - and I anticipate it with both delight and with trepidation because I don't know what awaits. Most minutes of most hours of most days the uncertainty is heavy; it is not too much to carry and it is not light enough to make it an easy journey.