I’ve arrived at the end of a chapter in my life: five years after the (unexpected) passing of my beloved husband.

I was in a different state of being for each of the five years. Year one was marked by shock. Year two, numbness; year three, processing; year four, existing; and year five, finding my way.

The finding my way stage is interesting because for the first time in my life I have no open plans. The last plans I made were a joint-effort: a collaboration of ideas and goals shared with my late husband. The plans we made together died with him, so figuring out what was next for me and my journey seemed to be a daunting task.

One day I decided not to think about it, binge-watch tv, and simply be. People who know me know I don’t binge-watch television. Apparently the bit of a brain break it was what I needed to rejoin the land of the living and slowly gain some of my interests back. I started writing again. I became more social. I even decided to get a few things done around the house—something I’d put off for years because I was unsure I was emotionally strong enough to remain there by myself.

Five years. It’s been five years, and you know what? I still don’t know what my plans are! The good news is, I don’t have to have it all figured out.

Baby steps and taking one day at a time is serving me well at the moment.

I’ve noticed that the ever-elusive feeling of hope fell upon me once I did nothing about the circumstances I was unexpectedly thrown in. I’ve found that hope doesn’t occur a year from devastation or even a week from devastation. Hope is a process: a minute by minute experience; the everyday living of life. Hope, at the end of the day, gives me just enough strength to look forward to tomorrow.