Uncertainty has a way of making us believe we need an answer immediately. A change in work, relationships, health, loss, or simply an unexpected turn can send the mind searching ahead: What happens next? What if this doesn’t work out? How do I fix it?
Over the years, through teaching movement, yoga and meditation—and through life itself—I’ve learned to ask a different question: What do I actually know to be true, and what is an imagined outcome?
Not every problem can be solved immediately. Sometimes the most productive thing we can do is give a situation room to breathe. Grounding, to me, doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay or forcing myself to feel calm. It means observing my body, my surroundings and the facts of where I am right now. Feelings are real, but they are not always permanent. Circumstances change. So do we.
When the circumstances that once defined us change, steadiness can also come from recognizing what still belongs to us—and allowing it to take a different form. We can miss who we were without mistaking the past for where we belong.
When my mind travels too far into the future, I return to something tangible. Movement helps. Meditation helps. Music can become a kind of mantra. Sometimes it is as simple as going outside and letting my dog lead the way—slowing down enough to notice what she notices: smells, sounds, sunlight, the world happening around us.
Writing can create that same space. When uncertainty feels overwhelming, I divide a page into three questions: What do I know? What don’t I know? What can I do today?
What I know is that time may be the greatest currency we have. What I don’t know is how much of it any of us gets. What I can do today is choose something that connects me—to myself, to the people, animals, places and world I love while I’m here.
We don’t have to see the entire journey to move forward. Sometimes we simply need to become still enough to look up and out. Somewhere beyond what we can see is a horizon, a door, a threshold.
Our work is simply to find the next step.