Rune

I am learning to believe in magic.  Not the optical illusions or tricks of a magician, but the mystery of the unknown.   Of course logic tells us there is science behind everything, and in many cases, solving a cryptic puzzle to understand what makes a body tick is the right thing to do.  Knowledge is power, for sure.  And we should use it to fix our problems. But life still houses a few wonders that can remain innocuous even if we never pull the cloak of invisibility that shrouds them.

We all crave a level of certainty that just doesn’t seem to exist in this ever-complex and abstruse world.  We feel better when we think we can somehow put order to ambiguity.  But when we try to take the mystery out of things aren’t we by default limiting our possibilities?

I’ve been thinking these days about what happens when we spend time worrying about outcomes.  When I’m too busy wondering what will happen to my career if I’m unsuccessful in moving my project forward, I have less energy to invest in finding the best solution.  I may settle for a mainstream answer without investigating all of my options because it gets me out of the haze quickly, doesn’t ruffle any feathers.   When I sentence my teenager to a doomed future because he hasn’t yet figured out what’s next for him, the time I should spend guiding him (and loving him) to a thoughtful choice is eaten up in the knell of frantic warnings and damaging conversations that just leave him feeling awful about not having the answers.  When the focus is around imagining all sorts of disappointing outcomes, you are invariably allowing negative energy to consume the space that should be reserved for creating and enjoying the positive experiences that always comprise the journey to any outcome. The joy and fun is in everything if you let it shine through; if you are brave enough to allow yourself to see it.

It all comes down to fear of the unknown.  It’s fear that causes us severe discomfort in uncertainty:  Fear that we’ll do the wrong thing, fear that one bad decision will set us careening on a dangerous path we can’t recover from, fear of loss, fear that if we allow ourselves to actually enjoy something without the promise of certainty we’ll be hurt if the outcome doesn’t go our way.   

We think that getting quickly to certainty will quell our fears. But I think differently. This insatiable thirst that can’t be slaked puts us in overdrive, the relentless and premature push for certainty at all costs.  This is the danger zone.  This is where we end up settling for decent when we could have amazing.   The next version of technology you roll out is only marginally better than the version it could have completely eclipsed. A kid begrudgingly heads off to college pursuing a degree his heart isn’t in when a little extra time may set him on the path of his dreams.

Here’s what I believe:  If you pour yourself into growing and developing something before rushing to the end game, whether it’s a challenging project at work, the future of a teenage boy, or the fate of a promising relationship, you create sustainable, break-through success. But the trick is you really need to invest.  You need to be fully present in the moment without allowing yourself to be distracted by the possibility of an undesirable outcome.  The minute you take your eye off the now, you risk weakening the future.

I revisited Brene Brown’s TedX talk on vulnerability over the weekend, watching again before passing her message on to a friend.  She talks of what we lose when we try to put too much certainty around our most sensitive arenas like politics and religion.  She talks of the joy we reap when we leave some spaces in life to mystery and faith, finding the courage to invest even when the outcome is uncertain. 

I’m investing, wholeheartedly, in the moment; I’m going big and taking the risks knowing the outcome might hurt me, because it’s the only way I’ll see all of my possibilities.  I expect not only to thrive, but to have in my possession every moment of real understanding and joy that investing with abandon allows me to soak up along the way.  Now that’s magic.