How I’m Learning to Live with Uncertainty
Death reminds us of our mortality. Lately, I’ve become significantly aware of my mortality since the coverage of the Ukrainian war and talks of it escalating into an economic crisis, a third world war, and new world order.
It feels surreal that a world war is possible in my lifetime. I thought we were so much further and more secure than we evidently are. My plans for the future also didn’t factor in war, let alone a third world war. Like many, my future plans were filled with pursuing my dreams and education, love, family, and growing old. Maybe a climate disaster, but not war.
However, after the news broke, everything began to feel so pointless. I found it hard to go about daily life because I couldn’t overcome the acute, gnawing, and ever-present sense of insecurity and pain.
All the effort I’d made thus far to secure my envisioned future felt so futile, especially when I realised that my loved ones and I might not be there for it.
I thought of how magnified the sense of fear and loss is for those in wars happening worldwide. I imagined them in an instant, losing all that they had worked so hard to achieve as they ran into uncertainty.
I imagined them sleeping wherever they could find shelter, not knowing whether they’ll wake up, stay together, re-build, or if there’ll be an end to their torment.
These thoughts not only made me anxious but also vulnerable. At the same time, loss and death are ever-present regardless of war’s existence, making me realise how fragile we are.
But, we often forget our fragility as we lull ourselves into a false sense of security, complete with visions of growing old. Having these realisations, I thought of Sting’s song Fragile, which for me, perfectly sums up this moment in time:
“If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the color of the evening sun
Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime’s argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are.”
To feel better, I hyperfocused on the news to see who was winning. Although doing so provides temporary hope or relief, narratives of enemies and victors make you forget that there are no winners in war.
Of course, there’s a technical winner, i.e., the one who inflicts more damage, but even they lose. There’s also no winning for the families that lose a child, parent, each other, their lives, and all they’ve come to know and love. The same can be said of anything, and anyone caught in the middle.
Just as Sting says, “tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away, but something in our minds will always stay.” That thing will likely remind those remaining of what happened, what they’ve lost, and how things will never be the same.
Although it was important for me to think of these things and make these connections, it did little to ease the anxiety and pain. At the same time, ‘doomscrolling’ and dwelling on my thoughts and fears didn’t help either. I felt stuck, not knowing how to move or whether I should even bother doing so. I felt utterly overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering.
The first thing I did was look at what I could and couldn’t control. I soon realised that my thoughts and reactions were within my control. From then on, I began to observe my thoughts instead of identifying with them or treating them as real. Doing so helped reduce anxiety and created space in my mind for solutions.
I also realised that whatever happens, I need a clear head to respond appropriately, meaning I can’t afford to get stuck in my head. From then on, I started to detach myself from my dreams and visions of the future and stopped obsessing about what may or may not happen.
I decided to use that energy to monitor my mind to avoid drifting with my thoughts and fears and remain present. I also started practicing how to stay calm under pressure.
Moreover, I tried to figure out what I would miss or regret if the worst were to happen, and I made a point of doing or enjoying those things now.
Most importantly, I accepted that my loved ones and I could die at any moment, either from war or anything else. With that, I made peace with the fact that nothing in life is guaranteed, which helped to further minimise my fear and anxiety. Doing so also helped me appreciate the presence of loved ones now. So often, the things and people we ignore today are what we cry about later when they’re gone.
As a result of all that’s happening, I’ve become more intentional about spending time with loved ones and doing what matters to me most, so I have no regrets later.
I’ve also become more grateful for everything I usually take for granted while pursuing future dreams and goals. For example, I’m thankful for being alive and healthy and having access to all the little things that make life bearable or convenient.
Ultimately, what started off as a curse is becoming one of the greatest opportunities.
