An incomplete project puts me in limbo. It’s not so bad after all. I grew up with dim images of limbo as a soft cottony place where unbaptized babies frolicked happily, unaware that they would never see the face of God. The teaching was, if I recall, people in limbo will never go to heaven, but neither will they go to hell. And they won’t suffer. Limbo, then, is a land beyond time and expectations. But the thing about limbo was — and is — you can’t will yourself to be there. You have to arrive accidentally.