"You sound angry," a friend wrote to me in an email yesterday. 
You could have knocked me over with a feather. 

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross writes eloquently about anger as a stage of grief. If I remember properly, it comes right on the heels of shock. But I'm not very good at noticing anger. I walk right past it, not realizing that it's pitched a tent and rolled out a sleeping bag. It's just hanging out...biding its time until I notice we're not home anymore.

I grew up in a time when adults didn't show their deepest  emotions on the surface. The adults in my life were shell-shocked from the 2nd World War and craved order and peace in their lives. Their grief was so deep, that most days they kept busy, while powerful emotions lurked just below the surface.
 
"You sound angry."  

Yes, its probably true. And it doesn't really matter that I can feel the the wisdom and the blessings in this redirection, or that I have all the support I'll ever need to find a new way. I wish I could see around corners and know that something tangible and rewarding is ahead. But I can't. 

So I'll just crawl into that tent and hang out with the hard stuff for as long as it takes to feel what it feels like right here, right now. And when I'm ready,
I'll know.