The Space Between Here and Stable
A quiet reflection on progress, persistence, and the distance between surviving and stable.
This isn’t a story.
It’s not a poem, a reflection on consciousness, or one of my usual robe-wrapped wanderings into the strange corners of existence.
It’s simply an update.
The good news is that things are looking a little brighter than they have in a while.
Life has a way of moving in seasons. Some seasons feel like you’re climbing uphill through mud, wondering if the road ahead even exists. Others arrive more quietly. Not with dramatic breakthroughs or sudden victories, but with small signs that the ground beneath your feet is finally becoming steady again.
Lately, I’ve started to feel some of that steadiness returning.
Not because everything is solved. It isn’t.
But because for the first time in a while, I can see a path forward instead of just the next obstacle.
That matters more than I can easily put into words.
And it feels worth sharing honestly with the people who have helped keep this little corner of the mesh alive.
Part of that feeling comes from the simple fact that life feels a little more stable than it did a month ago.
Some of you know that the past year has brought its share of unexpected challenges. Like most people, I’ve spent a fair amount of time trying to adapt to circumstances I never quite planned for. Some things changed. Some expenses shifted. And some of the realities of daily life became a little more complicated than they had been before.
The good news is that much of the uncertainty that was hanging over me has begun to settle.
My housing situation feels more secure. The road ahead looks clearer. There are still challenges to navigate, but they feel like challenges that can be worked through rather than walls standing in the way.
That sense of stability is a gift I don’t take for granted.
When you’ve spent enough time wondering where solid ground is, you learn to appreciate it when you finally find some. Not because everything is perfect, but because you can finally stop spending all your energy trying not to fall.
But seeing the road ahead and arriving at the destination are not quite the same thing.
There is often a stretch in between.
A space between where you are and where you’re trying to go.
A space between surviving and stable.
That is where I find myself right now.
The truth is that independent writing has always been a bit of an unusual way to make a living. Some months are better than others. Some months everything lines up neatly. Other months remind you that creativity and calendars rarely consult each other before making plans.
The writing continues. The publication continues to grow. New readers continue to find their way into this strange little corner of the internet.
And for that, I am genuinely grateful.
But growth is often slower than bills.
Rent still arrives on schedule. Utilities still arrive on schedule. Life, as it turns out, remains remarkably committed to its deadlines.
Right now, I find myself in that familiar gap between where things are and where they are heading. Not in crisis. Not without hope. Simply in that awkward stretch where the future looks brighter than the present bank balance.
I suspect most of us have stood in that space at one point or another.
The place where you know you’re moving forward, but you’re not quite there yet.
And sometimes, that last stretch can be the hardest part of the journey.
One of the things this past year has reminded me of is that none of us carry everything alone.
When I started writing on Substack, I wasn’t entirely sure what it would become. I had stories to tell, ideas to explore, and questions I wanted to wrestle with. What I didn’t expect was the community that would grow around those things.
Some of you have been here for a long time.
Some of you arrived last week.
But together, you’ve helped create something that feels far bigger than a publication.
You’ve shared essays. Left thoughtful comments. Sent encouraging messages. Recommended my work to friends. Joined me on strange philosophical journeys through grief, physics, consciousness, history, and whatever other rabbit holes happened to catch my attention on a given day.
And through all of it, you’ve reminded me that writing isn’t really about words.
It’s about connection.
It’s about knowing that somewhere out there, another human being read something you wrote and felt a little less alone because of it.
That is a gift I never take for granted.
Whatever happens next, and however long this strange robe-wrapped adventure continues, I am grateful for every person who has helped make this little corner of the mesh feel like home.
So this is the part where I ask for a little help.
Not because everything is falling apart.
Not because there is some looming disaster around the corner.
But because I am still making my way through that space between here and stable, and I can’t quite get across it by myself.
Over the next month, I need to cover roughly $400 in rent and basic operating expenses while I continue working toward the more stable footing I described above.
It’s not an impossible number. In fact, one of the things this community has shown me time and again is that small acts of support have a way of adding up.
If my writing has meant something to you...
If a story, essay, poem, or robe-wrapped reflection has stayed with you in some small way...
And if you’re in a position where helping is possible right now, I would be deeply grateful.
You can become a paid subscriber, buy me a tea, or simply share my work with someone who might enjoy it.
And if helping isn’t possible right now, please don’t give it a second thought.
Truly.
Reading, commenting, sharing your thoughts, and spending a few moments of your day here already means more than I can adequately express.
Whatever comes next, I’m grateful you’re here for the journey.
Things are looking brighter than they have in a while.
The road ahead is clearer. The plan is taking shape. And for the first time in some time, I find myself looking forward more than looking over my shoulder.
There is still a little distance between here and stable, but I’m getting there.
And whatever comes next, I’m grateful to be walking that road with all of you.
If this piece met you where you are, there’s more like it waiting.
You’re always welcome in the lounge.
This space is built slowly, piece by piece, by people who choose to be here.
If you’ve found yourself returning, reading, or sitting with these words…
becoming a paid subscriber is what helps keep it here, steady and alive.
You can also support with a tea if that feels right.
And if this resonated, sharing it helps it reach the ones still looking for it.
Stay entangled, my friend.
—The Bathrobe Guy (Robes)