Sometimes you listen to a song at a certain time, in a certain place, and it will become forever infused with those contextual associations. Whenever I listen to Space Oddity I’m reminded of my first solo flight, on the way to see Depeche Mode play in Zurich in 2014. It was the day after Valentine’s Day, a night I had spent sleeping on a bench inside Heathrow airport as the weather was due to be so bad that if I didn’t get to Heathrow that night then they’d be no way I’d make it in the morning. That time of my life was my first period of depression as an adult where I was really not okay.

Two weeks prior I’d called Samaritans as I felt so lost. The university mentor of my PGCE was actively encouraging me to defer for a term to recuperate, but I was determined to crawl through. Doing the course, having to show up each day, was the only thing keeping me going – it made me accountable for my own existence. I knew that if I delayed the course now, then I’d never return.

The moment I’d wake up each day and take stock of how I felt. Was it going to be a good day or a a bad day? There were no in-betweens. A good day meant I’d feel something and be able to engage with the world around me. A bad day meant emptiness, a hollow void where feeling should reside, a film barrier blocking anything from getting in or out.

On that flight to Zurich, listening to Bowie’s Greatest Hits on shuffle, Space Oddity epitomised the weightless drift I had been experiencing those past few weeks.

Unanchored and untethered, far above the world.

It’s surely no coincidence that I’ve felt another variant of those feelings the last couple of weeks. It’s the exact same time of year, 11 years on. Just like then, there are areas of my life that I don’t have any control of at all. Due to external factors and awaiting answers, I don’t know what’s on the horizon for my professional life. I want to take decisive action, but there’s not enough source material yet to make those decisions. The rules of the game are yet undefined, so I can’t yet decide the moves I want to take. I barely know what cards I have, let alone the right way to play them. Whilst every atom of my being wants certainty and a plan, it’s just not possible. I have to let it drift.

Then, when I do that, I end up feeling similarly hopeless about my personal life. I have no control over who I see on the apps and who gets shown me. And, in my current head and heart space, any attention I give that isn’t reciprocated feels like a micro rejection. Death by a thousand papercuts. Putting yourself out there means being unguarded, open to joy and shrugging off any disappointments. Right now, though, I feel Zoidberg in season 2, episode 9 of Futurama – a raw and vulnerable crustacean looking for it’s mate, without it’s protective shell to stave of danger.

At times this week I’ve been yearning for a Fairy Godmother to fly in and fix it all. Hold my hand. Make the decisions. Remind me to eat and take care of myself. Tell me that it’ll all work out and be okay. That I’ll crawl through this storm, Charlotte the Brave and Fierce and Bold, stronger and more powerful, on a new path. The right path.

For now, I just need to keep sitting in my tin can, riding out this journey, having faith that I’ll land back and be grounded in myself once more.