That place of uncertainty

Sunday, October 13, 2019


My friend and I were talking about uncertainty last year and everything it makes us feel, etc. Etc. Etc. And etc.

So much of life right now feels like that. We tell each other things occasionally, and always the comforting response comes back, 'I feel that too in the deepest way." Uncertain, without motivation, constantly questioning ourselves.

She showed me a weather forecast with an enormous yellow circle drawn around her location, labeled GREATEST UNCERTAINTY.

 She quipped, 'My actual body is within that circle and damn if GREATEST UNCERTAINTY doesn't sum up my whole life right now.'

Life is a lot less uncertain for both of us now. In some important ways, yet in others—nothing has changed. We’re still asking the same questions, having lived out the answers from last year only to arrive at the next chapter. That is right now. A teeming mess of greatest uncertainty. I think about the breadth and width of information and learning surrounding us, of all of the wonderful women who are doing great things and successful things and creative things. The ones who are writing and baring their hearts and scribbling things on the walls so intimate and true that we relate at once and continue to look at each of their small spaces on the walls where they have left their mark.

There's room enough for us too, but I feel right now in my bones and the pit of my stomach is uncertainty. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Somehow, all of that has the opposite effect, the law of equivalent exchange, I suppose. If these women have given and offered their words and their art and themselves, then I cannot measure up. There is no room for me. Something must be given back. And I am not sure I have anything to leave on my bit of the wall.

Greatest uncertainty.

This is the thick of it. Draw a circle around where your body is right now, I think, but easier said than done, because what does that mean? Stubbornness. A quiet, but unrelenting refusal to retreat and even if unable, in the moment, move forward. Nothing is certain. The next step hangs somewhere unseen, frozen and still, like a door shut in the dark. There's no light to see where it is--which direction to step blindly but in faith towards. Not until it opens, at least.

So. Draw the circle. Declare your space and your self. Even if quietly and under your breath to you and you alone. For now, that will be enough. It has to be.

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