Living With Change and Uncertainty

At times in life, we may find ourselves facing something we would rather avoid, change, loss, or uncertainty.

Even when nothing obvious is wrong, there can be a quiet sense of unease underneath the surface. A kind of background tension that is easy to stay busy enough not to notice. We often long for more space, more time alone, more moments of quiet. And yet, when those moments arrive, they can feel unexpectedly uncomfortable. It can be difficult to simply stop, without filling the space or moving away from what we might feel.

The poet Jennifer Welwood writes: “Everything that can be lost, will be lost.”

It is not an easy line to take in. But it points to something we all encounter in different ways, that life is in constant change, and nothing stays fixed. When we begin to really meet this, we may come into contact with a deeper sense of aloneness or uncertainty. This can bring up feelings of anxiety, grief, or a sense of groundlessness that we are not always used to staying with. The poet David Whyte speaks about how quickly solitude can open into feelings of grief or abandonment, and how unfamiliar it can be to remain there without moving away. In my own experience, I can see how easy it is to move away from these places, to stay busy, to distract myself, or to hold onto a sense of not having enough time. It can be surprisingly hard to simply stop, without doing. But when we begin to stay, even a little, something can shift.

In my own experience, when I stay with what is here, I often first meet a kind of restlessness, an intensity of aliveness in the body that can feel hard to bear. There is a sense of not knowing. Waves move through, sometimes tenderness, sometimes something raw and unformed, something difficult to name. If I can remain with this, without turning away, something begins to shift. A sense of space opens. The experience becomes quieter, more settled, yet still alive. There is a tenderness to it, something quite ordinary, and at the same time quietly profound.

This does not remove the reality of change or uncertainty. But it can change how we are with it. What first feels uncomfortable or overwhelming can slowly become something we can stay with a little longer. Not because it becomes easier, but because there is less need to immediately move away from it. Over time, there can be a softening. We may find a greater appreciation for small moments. A willingness to meet life more directly, as it is. And perhaps a growing recognition that while we cannot hold onto everything, we can meet our experience with more presence and care. This is not about becoming unaffected or detached. If anything, it can deepen our capacity to feel, to be with the reality of change, and with what matters while it is here. Something in us learns to stay a little longer.

This is something that unfolds slowly, in our own way, over time.