I call it the foggy morning of the soul—that liminal time when you can see just enough to pull the car out of your driveway—but you aren’t quite sure you see where you’re going. We turn our headlights on in such a situation. We sit on the edge of our seats, eyes wide open to detect whatever might emerge before us. We are afraid, yes. But we lean in, because there’s no other way to get where we are going.
