The end of a road?

We walk with a walk that is measured and slow

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

~Shel Silverstein

For the past dozen years—even more, really—I’ve followed the “chalk-white arrows” on a path that led to my writing “Rambler,” a memoir about our family’s experience with my husband Steve’s mental illness.

I trace the beginnings of “Rambler” to two decades ago: Following the tumultuous decade in which Steve’s mental health problems surfaced and resettled into a manageable routine, I wrote a 14,000-word timeline of events that highlighted the challenges of raising a young family with a husband who has a mental illness. I tucked that document away for many years, for there were still children to care for, money to earn, and an evolving chronic illness to take in and manage.

But as the load lightened and I moved into semi-retirement, I created a routine that allowed me to finish what I’d started. It involved writing regularly—at home, in libraries, and with a writer’s group. I also attended biannual retreats, where for a week a score of silent, dedicated writers sat side-by-side clicking away at their keyboards. Or, if we were in need of inspiration, roaming the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains, where we stayed.

During those intense writing years, as I moved in “measured and slow” steps towards my goal, I had a clear sense of purpose and a tenacious determination to follow the arrows along the path.

Today, for the first time since the publication of “Rambler,” I’m in the mountains again, sitting beside fellow writers, their heads bent over their laptops with a fervor I no longer feel. For the first time since forever, I’m where the “sidewalk ends.” It’s an odd feeling to lack a sense of purpose. To not know what it is that I want to say.

Writing requires so much energy, and as I inch my way into the next decade of life, I question if I have the tenacity to continue. What’s next? I wonder. Is there’s another writing path beyond my memoir, one I cannot yet see?