As someone who’s spent my life studying healing and guiding people toward transformation through writing, I have always been fascinated by turning points, moments when one aspect or phase of our life is ending, and our new reconfigured life has not yet begun. Those uncomfortable precipices where we stare out at the vast unknown and have to leap—or are pushed—into a new, as yet unformed, reality.
Collectively, we’re all in that state of limbo right now, swimming in a vast sea of uncertainty. So, when I was planning my Wednesday morning writing class this week, considering what I would have my students write, I returned to one of my all-time favorite prompts when guiding people through a process of change: “I’m standing on the edge of...”
The full prompt goes like this:
What’s my edge? Describe it for us in the most graphic way possible. Use the words, "I am standing on the edge of…" as a repeating line. Take this in as many directions as you can.
I’ve written to this prompt many times, and my response is always different.
Here’s what I wrote today:
I’ve crossed over into the third act of my life, and I’m standing on the edge of old age. Today, I’m still an independent, functioning adult, but when I stare at the age spots on my hand, feel the ache in my joints, and demur when asked about the book I finished just last night, I experience the impact of my years: vulnerability, wisdom, grief, and letting go—welcomed, resisted, required.
I’m standing on the edge of autocracy. We all are, those of us who acknowledge it, and those of us who don’t. I’m standing on the edge of their lawless grab for power, this reckless government of hateful men who used to stay in their hidey-holes, afraid to show their faces. Now unleashed and gloating, they celebrate ruthless power over us all.
I am standing on the edge of anxiety. I’m standing on the edge of fear.
I’m standing on the edge of my inner resources. Though well-earned and substantial, they aren’t enough to hold me steady during THIS—the cruel dismantling of the world I have known.
I’m standing on the edge of resistance, but I am just one aging woman holding up a sign. Will enough of us be roused out of our somnolence to make a difference?
Can their juggernaut be stopped?
No one knows for sure.
So, like all of you, I am standing on the edge of a vast unknown.
Am I witnessing the death of the beautiful, flawed country I have known? Or are we in “The Great Turning” Joanna Macy talks about, where human civilization must pass through a devastating collapse before re-emerging into a new and better world?
I am standing on the edge of uncertainty. No, actually, I am neck deep in uncertainty. Standing on the edge of a future that cannot be predicted, a future I am reluctant to plan, a future that seems surreal because today is the only day I can count on.
I am standing on the edge of fierceness, determination, numbness, and dissociation. I am standing on the edge of all the coping mechanisms that have brought me to this moment—the healthy ones and the not so healthy ones. They are my companions on this road as I struggle to find steadiness in my heart, within my thoughts, beneath my feet.
I am standing on the edge of awe. All I need to do is turn my head and look out at the garden, listen to the gong in the wind, savor the spring blossoms vibrant with life outside my window.
That choice is always there—awe/anxiety, anxiety/awe. Why is it so much easier for me to choose anxiety?
I am standing on the edge of my breath. If I step into it, settle into its steady rhythmic pulse, I am standing on the edge of, no, I am immersed in being.
And for a time, I become a tender witness rather than a terrified citizen. Rather than bracing for destruction, I emanate peace.
I am standing on the edge of this moment. It is the only moment I have, the only moment I have ever had.
I am standing on the edge of hope that things will get better. But like the gold ring at the carousel, it’s out of reach as the world keeps spinning.
Photo of freshly painted carousel horses in winter at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk photo by Laura Davis
Now it’s your turn to write:
PROMPT: What’s my edge? Describe it for us in the most graphic way possible. Use the words, "I am standing on the edge of…" as a repeating line. Take this line in as many directions as you can.
As always, I invite you to share your thoughts or excerpts from your writing in the comments.
And remember, every time you click the heart, leave a comment or share a post, you’re making it easier for new readers to discover The Writer’s Journey.
These are the writing workshops and retreats I’ve got coming up in 2025:
In person:
Flourishing as We Age: A Writing Retreat for Women A six-day retreat at a beautiful oceanfront retreat center in Santa Cruz, California. Using story, deep listening, and ritual, learn to welcome change, build resilience and hold grief and gratitude simultaneously. May 2025. Just four spots left.
How to Write About What You Can’t Remember.Learn to transform scraps of memory into a rich written legacy. This class meets weekly for five weeks on Zoom and will be recorded for those who can’t attend live.
Weekly Writing Practice Class: This Wednesday class has met weekly for 25 years. We write to prompts and share intimately in a sacred circle. Open to new students now.
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Thank you, Laura. I decided to spend a little time with your prompt this morning, and here's what showed up:
I am standing at the edge of a moment I can embrace or push away. It's a moment of not knowing what the future holds, a moment that could easily topple into hopelessness. The country is heading toward autocracy, cruelty, racism, hatred, censorship, and male egos run amok. But it's my moment as much as it is theirs and if I say yes to it -- to the whole catastrophe and splendor of it -- I'm also saying yes to the whole of me, yes to the mystery, yes to the One who created and sustains it all.
I am standing at the edge of infinite love. It's so accessible, this love. Everywhere I turn, inside or outside, it freely offers itself and asks nothing in return. Now I'm no longer at the edge, but in the middle of that love. The sense of being held is overpowering. If there is any certainty in this world, it is that the divine, indwelling isness can be found within each one of us.
I'm standing at the edge of ecstasy and also deep sadness, knowing what is possible for every being on this planet and how far away most of us remain from the plain and simple truth. And so I pray and allow the love to strengthen me for whatever might come next. I feel my resolve growing to accept what life offers me with gratitude. I am determined to keep my own lamp lit and shining.
I am standing at the edge of my awareness where I feel it stretching, expanding, refusing to stay small. When I let go of witnessing and just BE the bare awareness, the beauty of the moment stuns me. And then I know there is no edge -- it's all center, every breath, every sacred centimeter -- nothing separate.
Thanks for the journey, Laura. It was an unexpected ride!
So beautiful and provocative!
Thank you, Laura. I decided to spend a little time with your prompt this morning, and here's what showed up:
I am standing at the edge of a moment I can embrace or push away. It's a moment of not knowing what the future holds, a moment that could easily topple into hopelessness. The country is heading toward autocracy, cruelty, racism, hatred, censorship, and male egos run amok. But it's my moment as much as it is theirs and if I say yes to it -- to the whole catastrophe and splendor of it -- I'm also saying yes to the whole of me, yes to the mystery, yes to the One who created and sustains it all.
I am standing at the edge of infinite love. It's so accessible, this love. Everywhere I turn, inside or outside, it freely offers itself and asks nothing in return. Now I'm no longer at the edge, but in the middle of that love. The sense of being held is overpowering. If there is any certainty in this world, it is that the divine, indwelling isness can be found within each one of us.
I'm standing at the edge of ecstasy and also deep sadness, knowing what is possible for every being on this planet and how far away most of us remain from the plain and simple truth. And so I pray and allow the love to strengthen me for whatever might come next. I feel my resolve growing to accept what life offers me with gratitude. I am determined to keep my own lamp lit and shining.
I am standing at the edge of my awareness where I feel it stretching, expanding, refusing to stay small. When I let go of witnessing and just BE the bare awareness, the beauty of the moment stuns me. And then I know there is no edge -- it's all center, every breath, every sacred centimeter -- nothing separate.
Thanks for the journey, Laura. It was an unexpected ride!
Danna Faulds