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Over most of my life, September has felt more like the beginning of a new year than January 1st ever has, likely because of conditioning from 12+ years of back-to-school shenanigans. Besides being the end of a tax year and all the annoyances that accompany that, January just feels like the beginning of the winter doldrums—simply grey and blah.
But September always held the twinkle of possibility.
I remember, as a child, excitedly cracking open that fresh pack of sharp, untouched pencil crayons, blissfully unaware of what future me would face that year. As we age, the smallness of the lives we live as children grows and grows as time ticks by. Until one day, we realise that "the unknown" feels less like that feeling of possibility we had opening up a new box of pencil crayons, and more like sitting by a daunting chasm of uncertainty. And for the more risk-averse among us, that blissful expectation slowly gets replaced by fear, anxiety, insecurity, and maybe even sadness.
Though I still get a little sparkle right after Labour Day, I realise that at this stage of my life, "new beginnings" gleam less than they did in my younger years. Beginnings feel more like endings, and uncertainty for the future sits in my belly like a knot of tangled emotions. In times like these, the old adage “better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t” echoes through my mind.
Now that I’m well into middle age, I know the future is much more complex than I imagined as a kid. However, I also feel the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in my skin, and I have resources within myself that I simply did not have when I was a child. I’ve always envied those who feel comfortable taking big risks – it’s never been easy for me. However, it is my intention to get more comfortable with the discomfort of uncertainty so that I can experience the twinkle of possibility.
Life as a Gen Xer is riddled with uncertainties—whether grappling with financial security and the realities of looming retirement we aren’t prepared for, caring for aging parents while managing the health challenges that creep up, or worrying about the kind of future our children will inherit amidst an ever-shifting volatile political climate.
Uncertainty threatens our survival
As children, many of us feared the dark, imagining all sorts of eerie creatures hiding in the shadows. Though hopefully the fear of monsters under the bed dissipates as we grow older, discomfort with the unknown is wired right into our DNA. The most important function of our brains is survival, and uncertainty is a huge threat. Life as a Gen Xer is riddled with uncertainties—whether grappling with financial security and the realities of looming retirement we aren’t prepared for, caring for aging parents while managing the health challenges that creep up, or worrying about the kind of future our children will inherit amidst an ever-shifting volatile political climate. These layers of unpredictability are woven into our everyday lives, reminding us that change is the only constant we can truly rely on.
Uncertainty is particularly daunting when it accompanies a new beginning—whether it's starting a new job, moving to a different city, or entering a new phase of life. As much as we crave the excitement of fresh starts, they often come with an extra-large side of anxiety that can be incredibly hard to shake. So difficult, that sometimes we don’t even step into a new beginning. After all, there’s comfort in the known, even when the known is less than ideal. But as we’ve all learned by now, life has a way of pushing us into new territories, whether we feel ready or not.
In fact, a study by University College London found that uncertainty can be more stressful than knowing something bad is definitely going to happen. It turns out that the "not knowing" is often harder to handle than the thing we're afraid of in the first place.
Research shows that uncertainty can trigger stress responses in our bodies, and it’s not hard to see why. When we don't know what to expect, our brains go into overdrive trying to prepare for every possible outcome. In fact, a study by University College London found that uncertainty can be more stressful than knowing something bad is definitely going to happen. It turns out that the "not knowing" is often harder to handle than the thing we're afraid of in the first place.
Certainty is comforting, and it can also keep us stuck
We seek certainty and predictability because it feels safe to immerse ourselves in what we already know. Certainty calms our nervous system; it reassures us by providing answers rather than questions. For many of us, especially those who have experienced trauma, the need for certainty can be even more pronounced. Routines, belief systems, and safety nets help create a sense of security that supports us in managing uncertainty.
But we must remember that too much certainty keeps us stuck in the status quo, limiting both our growth and the possibilities that come with embracing the unknown. Neuroscientist Beau Lotto says that the only time we actually experience freedom is when we choose to step into uncertainty.
Uncertainty is the birthplace of creativity and growth
As uncomfortable as it may be, uncertainty is where creativity and growth are birthed. Creativity can only exist when we step into the unknown. Consider play: part of playing or watching a game is the anticipation of not knowing who will win in the end. An adventure is only an adventure when it’s unpredictable. Possibility can only be accessed when we step outside of what we already know and what we’re certain about. Without uncertainty, life would become way too predictable, stripping away the challenges that lead to personal growth and development. Some of our most rewarding experiences stem from moments when we intentionally embrace uncertainty. It never feels good at first, but courage often doesn’t feel particularly good or comfortable. It’s through these new beginnings, with all their inherent uncertainties, that we evolve and grow.
“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian
Change of environment
I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead.
New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes.
This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious: What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.
Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.
This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.
Letting change flow
Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.
My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.
Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though.
Chrono-diversity
It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes,
“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”
I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone.
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.”
When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.
During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes,
“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.”
I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.
Wrestling with uncertainty is so hard
Recently this lesson became extremely relevant to me when I went through an intense period of uncertainty in my own life. I run a business delivering trainings, mostly to community mental health non-profits. For the past few years, I've felt confident in my work. But as the last fiscal year turned over, I noticed a shift—budgets had been cut, and organizations were hiring me less. The stability I needed was beginning to slip away.
The uncertainty was intense and really scary, especially since my husband is a student right now. My income is essential. I found myself questioning whether I should quit my business and get a job. For a couple of months, the weight of the unknown sat uncomfortably heavy on my shoulders. I was facing the possibility that something I had built and nurtured might no longer have a place in the world as it once did.
In the midst of this, I realized I needed to grieve the things that weren’t serving me anymore and let them go. Holding on to what used to work wasn’t helping me. Several people supported me during this time, offering their ideas and encouragement. I began to see new possibilities. I created a new well-being program, "Foundations of Well-being," which is now gaining traction, and I’m also developing a corporate leadership program with the help of a tech-savvy friend.
What I’m doing today is different than a year ago, but these new paths have the potential to be even better. I’m actually excited about the future now, but I had to go through such a challenging time of uncertainty to get here.
In many ways, our generation has been defined by uncertainty. We've come through a global pandemic, navigated economic recessions, technological revolutions, and as a result profound cultural shift.
Reframing uncertainty
In many ways, our generation has been defined by uncertainty. We've come through a global pandemic, navigated economic recessions, technological revolutions, and as a result profound cultural shift. We've faced the challenge of finding our footing in a world that often feels like it's constantly shifting beneath our feet. And now, as many of us enter new phases of life—we're once again confronted with the fear and excitement of starting something new.
But what if we honour our resilience for managing these unknowns and reframe the way we look at uncertainty? Instead of seeing it as a threat, we can choose to view it as an invitation—a chance to explore uncharted territory, discover new strengths, and redefine what’s possible. New beginnings, with all their unknowns, are opportunities to reinvent ourselves and our lives.
Here are a few ways we can embrace the uncertainty of new beginnings:
- Lean into ambivalence: It’s normal to feel both excited and scared when starting something new. Instead of fighting these mixed emotions, we can acknowledge them and recognize that they’re part of the process. Feeling conflicted doesn’t mean we’re on the wrong path; it means we’re human.
- Find adventure in the unknown: New beginnings are a form of adventure. Embracing the adventure can help us shift from fear to curiosity. It’s okay not to have all the answers. We can choose play, and build more fun into our daily lives.
- Practise self-compassion: We’re often our own harshest critics, especially when we’re venturing into new territory. Practising self-compassion means actively offering kindness to ourselves when things don’t go perfectly. It’s about recognizing that growth often comes with setbacks, and that’s okay.
- Embrace the creative potential: Uncertainty is a powerful catalyst for creativity. When we don’t know exactly how things will turn out, we’re more likely to think outside the box and come up with innovative solutions. Try actively choosing uncertainty, even in simple ways! Take a new route home from work, cook without a recipe, go to a new restaurant, do something you wouldn’t normally do.
As we step into new beginnings, let’s remember that it’s okay to feel a little lost. Beginnings are often not as sparkly and fun as that new box of pencil crayons when we were in elementary school. Sometimes beginnings suck. But uncertainty is part of the journey, and it’s part of what makes the journey worthwhile. By embracing the unknown, we open ourselves up to the magic of what could be. And who knows? This new beginning might just be the adventure we’ve been waiting for.
