Shadows of the Mind

The Uncertain Path

The Uncertain Path

The very thought of uncertainty paralyzes me. Every day starts with the ceremony of taking control over those variables that would unsettle me. There, the universe of all the things outside of my set routines lies an endless expanse of shadows to me. I am overtaken with an irrational fear that something, at any moment, will shatter the fragile balance I've built. No decision is little, for it always finds its way to be measured and calculated such that my path is kept clear. No matter how earnest and painstaking my planning is, uncertainty is the grim specter lurking at every corner. The bigger challenge comes not in dealing with escape from it but learning not to let its being there eat at my ability to maintain a sense of stability.

It's in the incessant dance I go to bed with every single night, a waltz with anxiety that leaves me breathless. Each morning, I get up with a script already written, a plan strung out on paper, anything and everything to avoid the chaos waiting at the edges of my control. I line up my tasks, sit them in neat, orderly columns, hoping to defend myself against the unpredictable. When one thing goes awry-phone call, someone needing me suddenly-the floor seems to drop out from beneath me. My mind races, trying to wrestle back control, to impose order where there is none.

These little acts of consistency I hold on to—like a shipwrecked sailor to my piece of flotsam. My armor against the random vicissitudes of life. I know how irrational that state of being is, and yet life's beauty so often lies in its unpredictability, and knowing doesn't comfort my fear.

Social gatherings are particularly perilous. The uncertainty of human interaction-the uncharted waters of conversation, the possibility of awkwardness or misunderstanding—fills me with dread. Scenarios play out in my head as if I'm rehearsing lines and responses for some sort of battle. Then, when flung into the actual event, every unscripted moment feels like it just might be a landmine.

I crave certainty, but deep down I know that the will to control every little detail of my life is in itself a form of uncertainty. The more I try to master it, the more I come to realize that I really can control less, and thus the cycles continue—a never-ending search for stability in a world that defies it.

Acceptance could perhaps lie somewhere within this clutter. Maybe acceptance is the answer instead of control. Yet the thought of leaving it all in the hands of whatever is out there-that was the fear of it all. Here I am again, going through my daily routine, my rituals, fighting back with all my willpower against this unknown world, wanting for "some day, somehow" that I may come to peace within the center of a storm, uncertainty.

I do really well with things that can progress in a line from A to B, but when unexpected events come in the way or change, my productivity goes down the drain.

I yearn for freedom from this relentless need to control. I know it is a prison of my own making. The thought of dismantling it feels overwhelming. Maybe one day, I will learn to embrace the chaos and comfort myself with the uncertainty that lies before me, rather than being afraid of it. But as for now, I cling to my routines and plans in hopes that they do exactly that: keep me free from the great, unpredictable expanse of life laying beyond my control.

Begin to detect when it will happen: how my chest tightens, how my thoughts speed past each other. It's sort of like standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling at my feet, and beneath me, a fog so dense I can't see where I would land if I fell. I have always been like this, afraid of what I can't see, of what I can't predict.

A cloak that's too heavy, uncertainty wraps itself around me, weighing me by questions to which the answers I am not in possession of. What if? Though simple, really, it can pick me apart. What if I fail? What if I take the wrong turn? What if something goes awry and I can't fix it? The possibilities lie before me in some elongated expanse, a maze empty of exits, and this fear of getting lost paralyzes me.

I try and prep for every contingency, think of every possibility. Things I didn't even think of and twists I didn't count on. It gets really tiring, all this controlling and certainty, but I can't let go. The very idea of turning myself over to the unknown, of letting it ride, completely freaks me out.

Sometimes I'm envious of those who literally embrace the unknown, stepping into the future with faith, not fear. It seems so simple for them, like walking through doors to the other side without even thinking about what might be there; it's just another phase in their life. But for me, it's a great chasm, wide and dark, and I can't see what's on the other side.

I don't mean I don't wish change. I do. I just want to be okay with the idea of being brave and facing the future without this gnawing dread. But when I attempt to release certainty and open my grip, I feel like I'm falling, losing myself into the fog. And so, I cling to what I know. to the familiar, even if it's stifling. Because sometimes what is feared is being uncertain of the unknown-staying the same more painfully discomforting.

I was wondering now whether I'd ever get away from this, whether I'd ever get to walk free from life with this fear controlling my every step. Maybe one day, I will find the courage to step off the edge, to trust that the ground shall hold me, even if it be invisible. For now, I stand on the edge, peer into the dense fog, a coward, too terrified to step forward yet failing to move back.

So every day, as it passes, I wait with the hope that one bright day, the grip will loosen, the fog will lift, and I might receive some clarity and resilient strength to face the unknown around me. For now, I stay still, inflexible at the crossroad between the safety of what I know and the scary freedom of the unknown.

—Lady_Perrila