What's next?

Re-framing the uncertainty of life's "in-betweens", from fear to possibility...

Photo by Lisa van Dijk on Unsplash

Hi, friends! It’s been a minute (more like a month or two!) since I wrote. Though I stepped away from the keyboard for a little as I navigated full schedules, work trips and solo parenting, and what feels like never-ending administrative duties for this family of mine (so many appointments! vacations! play dates! so much planning!), my brain feels as full as ever with ideas for writing and connection and my heart is aching to share them with you. During these last several weeks, I have jotted down so many ideas for pieces and have started so many drafts. All that to say: I’m thrilled to be back in your inbox!

Today I’m jumping straight into the deep end with something I’ve been wanting to talk about, because I have a sneaking suspicion that many of you can relate. Are any of you also in a stage of life wondering, What’s next? A time of waiting, or wanting, or planning but not sure exactly what to plan for. Often I feel like these in-between, what’s next periods happen during times of transition: into motherhood, into a new job, away from a relationship or a decades-long career. These seasons of our lives can span days or even years, and often come with a feeling of uncertainty.

As an innate planner, it’s comforting to me when there is a vision laid out ahead of me, an idea of what the next year or five years will look like. As a child and a teenager, so much is already decided for you. That can be frustrating, but it’s also comforting. For most of my life, I knew what I wanted: I wanted to write, and I wanted a family. I didn’t know exactly how I’d get there, but I knew deep within myself that I would.

There were unsettling times of uncertainty, of course, but as I got older, I could plan things out a bit more: major in communications in college, apply for writing jobs, start a blog. My husband and I could plan to try for a baby, and then two, and then three. (I’m acutely aware that no matter how much we plan, sometimes things just don’t work out the way we picture — even the things we want the most. Hugs if you are walking that path right now.)

For a long time, I knew what I was meant to do, and who I was meant to be. But now here I am, approaching mid-life with kids that are growing at light speed and will all be in full-time school this year, and I find my old friend uncertainty knocking at the door and those two words echoing in my mind: what’s next? I will always be a mom, of course, and words can’t convey the gratitude I feel to have fulfilled that dream. Though I grieve the days of babyhood and toddlerhood in ways, I’m also looking forward to parenting them through these next stages. But as they become more independent and are away at school, I’m left in one of those in-between times, and that can feel a little scary.

But here’s what I know about fear: it’s really good friends with possibility. Have you ever heard the saying (which Google attributes to about twenty different people, so I’m not sure who to correctly credit for it): when nothing is certain, anything is possible? Isn’t it nice to consider that the question marks of life actually allow us to live our way to our own answers? Think about the questions you have had throughout your own life, the many times you have wondered how things would turn out. You have lived through each one, and these are likely the times during which you have also learned the most.

Nobody has it all figured out, even (maybe especially) when it looks like they do. There are times when we feel more secure or content, absolutely. But most of life is lived in the in-between, and maybe that’s the whole point. These “what’s next?” moments call for us to be brave, to be open, to be curious. If you’re also navigating a season of life where there is a lot of change and dense fog hanging over your perfectly-laid path, take my hand. Let’s follow the soft whisper (or loud whoop) of joy, let’s stay curious, and let’s allow fear to come along for the ride… as the passenger, not the driver. Slowly we’ll make our way through the fog and maybe even discover what’s possible—what’s been waiting for us—on the other side.