Let me tell you what the walk actually feels like. It feels like grief. Like you’ve died, but you’re still walking around, and no one else seems to notice. The old life is gone, but the new life hasn’t solidified yet, and we’re suspended in this awful, sacred, disorienting middle place where the only thing we know for certain is that we can’t go back. We question everything. We wake up at 3 AM, wondering if we destroyed the best thing we ever had. People we love look at us like we’ve lost our minds. Some of them will say it out loud to us. The bank account reflects the chaos of the transformation, and Empire (embodied as a little devil voice inside) whispers, “See! I told you to be realistic.” And somewhere in the middle of all that, not at the end but in the middle, something starts to grow. Not because we figured it out. Because we finally stopped trying to figure it out and let the prayer lead.