There's something about things falling into place that just illuminates all the other things that are still in disarray.
It's like a 1,000-piece puzzle, with only the edges assembled.
We may immediately feel as if we've accomplished something, but in the end we're left with just a big empty box.
We can become frustrated with our clean edges and carved out future because sometimes it seems like that empty box, the outline waiting for more, is just... life.
A series of pieces that surely have a place in the "whole" but pieces that also need to be just so in order for everything around them to work out.
And so, we fill our puzzle, one piece at a time, hoping the bigger decisions are enough to anchor our futures in something tangible.
Hoping our edges are strong enough to withstand all the rest.
As we check off our accomplishments, it's obvious to see how we got there, what pieces had to fall into place in order for the 1,000-piece puzzle to begin to make sense.
But, as each piece slides into it's appropriate space, any sense of accomplishment is undermined by the other pieces—in an overwhelming pile—coaxing us to move forward, to do more, to get it done.
Because without a sense of direction, or a purpose, the pieces we've yet to find a place for just clutter the end result with maybes and what might-have-beens.
And it seems no edges are strong enough to handle that.