I’ve been on the phone a lot this week, dealing with uncertainty. We have the illusion of control in life, easily shattered by the questions you can’t answer, or the things you can’t control.

I don’t play God, I play Russian roulette. 

Is this the right choice? I ask myself this question multiple times every day. Is it my fault? Did I mess up? What if I’d chosen door number 2? Would the outcome have been any different? 

We don’t know, and that’s the crux. We can never see all the paths not taken. We can glimpse the start of the path as the road forks, but it remains hidden out of sight as we walk the path of our choosing. 

Sometimes the path is the right one, and things are smooth. Sometimes the path is bumpy and we regret our choice, certain we’ve chosen badly until the path opens into the meadow and we realize it was just the journey that was hard, but the road got us to our destination after all.

And sometimes the path we are certain of lets us down. 

Life is tricky like that. 

At the end of the day, I still don’t know. I get older but feel less wise with the passing of time, as though the hourglass has drained my certainty away, one grain of sand at a time. 

 I keep choosing my way, blindly trusting that my choices are right, and they will take me where I need to go. 

Realistically optimistic, I keep walking, with sturdy boots and a coat, in case the storm finds me