Living With Uncertainty ...

Uncertainty is the refuge of hope.

Henri Frederic Amiel

Hello Everyone,

Again, it's been quite a while since I've been able to write here. I've been spending many hours a day working with the frozen shoulder that resulted from last year's fall and arm fractures and, more recently, I've also been working to find a new home after my landlords of 22 years decided to stop renting my half of the house (!) (Fortunately, neither situation has interfered with my ability to continue the teaching I love and plans are well underway for the fall workshops.)

As one who has always been more comfortable with a predictable life, this has been a time of uncomfortable uncertainty, a threshold time of limbo, angst and hope. Like all thresholds, it holds both anxiety and possibility. While I'm concerned about when my arm will heal and where my new home will be, allowing myself to live into the threshold experience has brought its own gifts. After the initial panic, I've found myself slowing down, waiting, and exercising (at least a modicum of) patience; spending more time with options and possibilities; and opening more to trust and synchronicity. It's been a liminal time of s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g and learning new responses to uncertainty and unpredictability.

Any time we humans find ourselves in the in-between place of uncertainty, a time when the familiar has already disappeared but the new hasn't yet arrived, we tend to experience a full range of uncomfortable reactions - fear, anger, irritability, grief, rigidity, forgetfulness, paralysis, loss of humour, aggression, fatigue, vulnerability and disorganization, to name but a few. If we can allow ourselves to tolerate, and even lean into the sources of this discomfort, and WAIT, we will probably find that it is also a time of hope and creativity.

Waiting in the threshold is an active kind of waiting. We pause as long as need be and then slowly put one foot in front of the other, trusting that we will see each next logical step as we move ahead. (As the poet, Antonio Machado, says the way is made by walking.)  This "active waiting" requires a great deal of presence, mindfulness, trust and listening, an openness to what is and to what might be. It asks us to be willing to risk living at the growing edge and being uncomfortable. It forces us to relinquish our desire for certainty and control and to walk into the fog of unknowing.

For many of us, questions like these help to guide us into and through the fog:

1.  How can I calm my body so I can think clearly?

2.  What do I want/need? What are the deep desires of my heart?

3.  Where am I now and where might I be headed?

4.  What is the meaning of this time? Why this and why now?

5.  How can I step outside the box of my habitual patterns and see this situation with "beginner's eyes"?

6.   What/whom will sustain me in this in-between place so my imagination and creativity can flourish?

7.   In what/whom can I trust and abide deeply to provide a supportive sense of hope?

Questions like these expand our awareness and help us to make better decisions as we make our way forward. Whether you're facing the uncertainty of job loss, a loved one's illness, the loss of a partner, economic uncertainty or other imposed change, may such questions help you to feel your way toward more certain times. 

Living at the Threshold ...

At any time you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing? At this time in my life, what am I leaving? Where am I about to enter? What is preventing me from crossing my next threshold? What gift would enable me to do it? A threshold is not a simple boundary; it is a frontier that divides two different territories, rhythms, and atmospheres.

John O'Donohue

Thresholds are in-between places with possibilities for growth and transformation. They come in many shapes and sizes. This Thursday, we will all cross the threshold from winter to spring. Some of you will  soon be leaving the school year and entering summer holidays. Others will be leaving old careers and starting new ones. Some of you will be leaving couple bliss to become parents. Others will be leaving work to retire. Others, still, will be leaving behind years of caregiving to enter the realm of widowhood.Whatever our situations, we will all cross a series of thresholds over our lifetimes. Part of being resilient is learning to recognize the potential of these thresholds and knowing how to live well in the"in-between" places.

Thresholds are places of excitement, uneasiness and un-knowing. Author, Christine Paintner, writes, Try not to analyze (thresholds). The threshold is about resting into mystery, into unknowing, into the liminal space where the old is released but the new hasn't yet come into being. 

When we entertain the possibility of something new, we find ourselves in the humbling position of not knowing what the future will bring. This can be both enlivening and frightening. If the fear outweighs the excitement, we can find ourselves desperately trying to jettison our anxiety and find a sense of control. While this is an understandable impulse, it doesn't contribute much to our transformation and wholeness and it doesn't allow the universe to "unfold as it should".

Rather than trying to escape the turmoil of our un-knowing by retreating from the threshold or by avoiding our feelings, the practice is to stay present with ourselves in the space between old and new. To be attentive to our experience in the moment and to allow space for our feelings of grief, fear, emptiness, self-criticism and despondency. We need to let go, wait, and trust that, in one way or another, life and promise will declare themselves.

As the threshold of spring and new life approach this week, what are the thresholds in your own life, the ones calling to you to cross but that feel difficult to face or challenging to imagine? What might you need or want to guide, support and nurture you as you pass through these doorways into something new? 

Perhaps this blessing by Jan Richardson, one of my favourite writers-of-blessings, will help you on your way:

A Blessing In the Dust

You thought the blessing

would come

in the staying, 

in casting your lot

with this place,

these people.

In learning the art 

of remaining, 

of abiding.

And now you stand 

on the threshold 

again.

The home you had

hoped for, 

had ached for,

is behind you - 

not yours, after all.

The clarity comes

as small comfort,

perhaps,

but it comes:

illumination enough

for the next step.

As you go,

may you feel 

the full weight

of your gifts

gathered up

in your two hands,

the complete measure

of their grace

in your heart that knows

there is a place 

for them, for the treasure

that you bear.

I promise you

there is a blessing

in the leaving,

as you walk toward home 

- not the one you left 

but the one that waits ahead,

the one that already

reaches out for you

in welcome, in gladness

for the gifts

that none but you

could bring.