With uncertainty

One of the most frustrating things about life is how uncertain it all is. I mean, there you are, doing your thing, and it’s pretty much the same thing you do every day. Sure, there are variations, but we are creatures of habit, so we tend to seek the comfort of patterns. So there you are, going about your nine- to- five activities, and someone flies a plane into the World Trade Center. And then nothing makes sense, because that’s not the sort of thing that just happens on a Tuesday. And the whole world-- the one you’ve fought so hard to force into comfortable arrangements-- seems fragile and terrifying.

You remember that feeling right? We all do because it was one of those times that the world fell apart for all of us at the same time. But there are many, many of those moments-- the ones that make everything feel uncertain and breakable-- in a lifetime.

Because it never makes sense to lose a child. There’s never a practical time for a car accident. Never the right day of the week to find out someone you love has cancer. Never a good month for a war.

But these things happen. Tragedy points its finger indiscriminately, regardless of our plans. So here’s the question: If you could know the future, would you?

It would be nice to know it all works out. There have been more nights than I could count that I’ve wished I could have a glimpse of what’s to come to see if things will be okay.

But if I knew it wouldn’t be the same. I think the point of life-- in part-- is simply to experience it. All of it; The beauty and the horror. Fear is part of the tour. Uncertainty and the exhaustion it brings, too.

I don’t know when any of us will die. I don’t know when the next cataclysmic event will fall. Don’t even know when I‘ll need to break out the next Band-Aid. And if given the choice, I don’t think I’d want to.

Faith is born in those moments of anxious insecurity. Strength, compassion and courage too. Those characteristics don’t come cheap, and ominous disquiet is the price we pay to acquire them.

Keep your chin up, your heart open and your head in the moment. The future will figure itself out--good or bad (but probably some of both).

See you there.

The myth of perfect timing

There is no such thing as “the right time.”


It’s a myth-- a fairytale we cling to even when logic would tell us to let it fall to dust.

Maybe it’s because if it were true-- if there were a perfect time to take life’s bigger chances-- we could be ensured a happy ending. And that would just be… well… that would be wonderful. Risk without risk. But as we hold out for the time that feels right enough to guarantee a “Happily Ever After”, we miss out on just plain ol’ “happy.”

Movies and folk wisdom would have us believe that there will be a perfect moment to go after that which we most desperately want. We’re told there will be a “right time” to reveal a crush, chance a kiss, make a change, pop the question, have a baby, buy a house, start a business, chase a dream… but like I said before, there is no such thing as “the right time.”

Life is a series of moments, some better than others. And the best and worst part of it all is you never know when you’re going to run out of those moments. Don’t let fear of taking that leap of faith allow you to bypass the opportunity to make something great.

Andy and I were married for about four years before we decided to try and have a baby. It had been a source of discord in our marriage because I felt ready for kids years before he did. But eventually things all came together. We were building a house, we both had good jobs, I was done with school… it was the perfect time.

Except when I was two months pregnant Andy lost his job, my job cut my hours, we (briefly) lost health insurance, construction on our house was months behind schedule and we were left living with my in-laws for an indefinite amount of time. See, even the perfect moment is just that-- a moment. And moments are fickle lil’ things, and they can go from “perfect” to “decidedly crappy” in a heartbeat.

We had suddenly found ourselves in about as un-ideal of a situation in which to have a baby as a married couple can be. And yet somehow, even in that most non-perfect moment, things turned out as well as we could have ever hoped. Just as perfect timing doesn’t guarantee everything will work out, bad timing doesn’t mean that it won’t.

The thing is, there’s never enough money. There’s never enough security. Things are never just as you’d want them and even if they are, they might still fall apart. There is no “right time.”

But there is this time. This moment. Right now.

Take this as your sign, if you were waiting for one. Take that chance, make that leap of faith, and pursue that dream, whatever it might be. Kiss the girl, make the call, take the job, buy the house, seize the moment.

Because it might not be perfect, but it’s yours. Don’t let it pass you by.

Perchance to dream

“I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.” ~Hamlet


Most of my dreams, since 7th grade, have been nightmares.

Why 7th grade? Couldn’t tell ya. Maybe I have some post-traumatic stress disorder from puberty or something, but whatever the reason, that’s when it started.

At first I figured it was just a phase. Everything seemed in flux at that age, and I assumed the whole thing would pass by high school. But the bad dreams stayed and got more disturbing. Eventually I started trying to get rid of them and was told they were something called “night terrors” because of the particularly graphic nature of the dreams and because they would sometimes cause me to react in real life (think sleep-walking but with punching and yelling).

Turns out there’s not a whole lot they can do about a thing like that. Some people are just prone to unpleasant sleep. And while there have been instances it’s been scary (the time I almost killed our cat because I thought he was on fire and I was trying to put it out) or embarrassing (the time I ran outside in nothing but a skimpy nightgown yelling at non-existent car thieves, resulting in a very awkward moment with my former neighbor) it’s mostly just an inconvenience.

But last night, after bad dream number 3,402 ( this one involving tornados, sea monsters, dead tigers and electric ghosts) I decided I’ve finally had it. Seventeen years of nightmares. That’s more zombies, clowns, serial killers, dead loved ones and alien abductions than anyone should have to experience in a lifetime, even if they are technically sleeping.

Back when this started, back when I thought it would pass, someone told me “dreams are God’s way of screaming at you what you refuse to hear in the daytime.” That seemed a little folksy for me, even back then, but I do think dreams mean something. The way that I have my own little subconscious house of horrors-- there’s got to be a reason. And if there’s a reason, there’s a solution. Maybe if I can figure out what these things mean-- what God has been yelling at me, as that woman said years ago-- maybe I can break through the parade of boogey men that marches through my mind most nights. Maybe I could just sleep, like most everyone else.

If nothing else, I’m sure my cat and my neighbor would be grateful.