As I pack, a poem

Packing, I found my journal from late March, when I was discerning and decided to do the Jesuit Volunteer Corps in Sitka. I had written a poem that resonates with me now:

The Doorway

I stand in a doorway
looking out,
hands gripping the frame.
On each side
I cling.

A wind gusts,
clearing the fog
for a moment.

I lean into the wind
and press into a net.
I must break through-

break through my self
to walk out
into love.