In a world that longs for certainty, we are met instead with disruption. The routines we rely on, the relationships we build, the roles we inhabit are not immune to sudden change. Like Odysseus, tossed by storms far from Ithaca in Homer’s epic, we too find ourselves adrift and disoriented by forces within and beyond our control, sometimes by fate, sometimes by our own longing. And yet, within the disorientation lies the opportunity to become anchored in our resilience and to remember an inner knowing that whispers we are still okay, even when we are not in control. In the ache of uncertainty, we may find solace not in answers, but in our connection to Spirit, to the Mystery, to the quiet pulse of life itself. We learn that we can still be grounded, even when the ground beneath us feels wobbly. True grounding comes not only from matter, but from our belonging to something invisible and enduring. Even when the outer forms fall away, when there is no money, no food, no job, we are still tethered to a deeper purpose, a life force that will not let us go.

Our nervous systems, wired for homeostasis, crave the predictable. We want love to stay. We want clarity to remain. We want our identities to hold steady. But change is not only inevitable, it is formative. It breaks open the old shell of who we were, not to destroy us, but to allow the voice of who we are becoming to emerge.

In my own work as a somatic psychotherapist, I witness this often: clients caught in the ache of transition, grieving the loss of a partnership, a belief system, a sense of identity. They arrive carrying the question: Who am I now? Beneath the confusion, beneath the ache, lives something deeper than a demand for answers. It is the invitation of presence.

We have been conditioned to see uncertainty as danger. But what if it is a portal? A sacred pause where we are not called to fix or flee, but to listen. To feel. To notice what wants to be born within us.

As Terry Tempest Williams writes, “We can take flight from our lives in a form other than denial and return to our authentic selves.” In the space between what was and what will be, the body becomes the ground of truth. Here, in the breath, in the belly, in the quiet, we remember that safety does not come from having all the answers. Instead, it comes from having a place to land within ourselves.

The stories we were given may be blank. Or broken. Or outdated. But the voice that writes the next chapter lives within us still. It is shaped by silence. It is carried by grief. It sings in the spaces between.

Uncertainty is like that. A blank page. A silent room. A threshold. We don’t always know what’s next, but we can choose how we meet it. With fear or with curiosity. With resistance or with reverence.

To live with uncertainty is not to be lost. It is to choose the sacred path of not-knowing, of becoming. And in that becoming, we discover we were never alone.