Today, I woke up empty.

Empty inbox. Empty planner. Empty (well, nonexistent) Outlook calendar.

(I now realize how incredibly dependent I was on that ever-pinging calendar.)

My heart feels a little empty, too.

On Friday, after more than half a dozen years – impatient-me’s longest tenure ever at any one company or in any one position – I amicably parted ways with my employer, with absolutely no idea what’s next.

The parting, while voluntary, is profoundly emotional. It came after a merger of two organizations – both of which I’d spent time at, and both of which I felt a deep affection for and loyalty to. Between them, a full decade of my career. Many achievements. Many relationships.

I had grown to love my teams, both the lateral and the vertical.

Oof da.

While I process all of the feels around this, I’m trying to embrace that, for the first time in my nearly 46 years, I don’t have a precisely laid out direction. I don’t have … a plan. I don’t have a list of specific, measurable goals longer than my femur. Nothing to go barreling toward, damn the torpedos.

I’m seeking to embrace the uncertainty, to thrust my trust into the universe, and just … let things happen.

This isn’t something I’m very … good at.

In art and design, there’s a concept called negative space, also known as white space. Basically, it’s where the stuff isn’t. I, a copywriter by trade, have long struggled not to fill every InDesign gap with wordy content.

And I’ve often approached life and career the same way. Go, go, go; more, more, more; fill the damn space. I have three degrees and countless certifications: MAM, MBA, user experience, leadership, Rage Yoga teacher. I’m always making lists – in a throwback, tangible paper planner, like any good trailing Xer. Goals around health, work, family, and personal development spin into infinity.

But in design, negative space can serve many purposes. It defines boundaries and builds depth. It offers an airiness … an openness.

It can also underscore the most important parts of a piece, drawing the eyes to its true meaning.

What on earth is going to fill the metaphorical white space in my head that was, probably better than 80% of the time, at the office or on the weekend, filled with work-related chatter?

Who am I without this career, these responsibilities, that title?

This pause, while difficult, is a gift. I’ll spend it gazing into the white, and assessing the black.

And, after some time, just like staring at a psychoanalyst’s inkblot, eventually, what’s next will appear.

*No, I’m not a huge Seether fan, though I did burn Broken onto multiple compilation CDs in the early-aughts just like everyone else.