I can keep going and still not know where I’m actually going

Dear Delyara, I am not inactive. I’m not lying in bed doing nothing. I am busy, responsible, responsive, functioning. The days are full. The house moves. The children get where they need to go. The work gets done. And yet underneath all of that is this terrible feeling that I am not moving toward anything I can name with conviction anymore. I am simply continuing. Maintaining. Repeating. Surviving. That frightens me more than visible failure would. Because visible failure at least has shape. This is a competent drift. A life that still looks occupied enough to hide the fact that direction has gone thin.