Como si dice "uncertain"?

If you haven't noticed, Autumn's in the air.  Outside my office window college students shout to each other as they cross paths for the first time since they loaded their cars up back in May.  Personally, my college years were marked by a series of blubbery, tearful, excrutiatingly drawn-out leave-takings staged at the end of my parents' drive way as my bestie and I parted ways for another year.  It's a singular, visceral memory, the utter certainty that it would be the last time we'd see each other.  EVER.

For all the effort we spend as adults trying to be in the moment, our biggest challenge then was to have a perspective on things that surpassed our present experience.  Now that we know first-hand "real" adult worries, who doesn't rue how much energy was wasted "stressing out" in college over things that seemed so important then- life-altering, even, in magnitude?  The low test grade, the unrequited affection for some boy, what to major in- all held such portent and urgency.  What I'd like to tell that old self of mine is just chill out already.  We had it so easy and we didn't even know it.  It's a hackneyed plot, this failure to appreciate how good you have it when you have it.  Sometimes I berate myself for not being grateful enough, a kind of magical thinking that I can ward off catastrophe through sufficient gratitude.

Uncertainty is on my mind a lot lately. Maybe it's the world, maybe it's being in this 4th decade of life, but it seems like everyone I know is experiencing it on new level.  Frankly, I could do without it.  At the rate we're going, we'll need to diversify the lexicon with a different word for every kind of uncertainty- medical, financial, meteorological, digestive.  Just like the Inuit and their supposed lexical specificity for snow.  (Apparently, this is a misconception.  But I'm happy to learn that the Sami People do have 100 words for it.)  But with the crickets singing their swan song, one can't help but feel we're fixing for a transition.  I worry it will be a doozy.  I am uncertain if I'm up for it.

On a good day, I take a measure of comfort from the longevity my husband's three grandparents.  It's really something to arrive at 85, not just still standing, but with a zest for life that belies all the hardships and heartaches of 8 decades of life on earth.  I don't really know the specifics but I have a good imagination, and I like to engage it when I'm feeling especially anxious about my current circumstances or those that, because I have a good imagination, I am certain are about to befall my cozy household.  It's hard to remember that the rule of impermanence applies to the bad stuff too when a spouse is unemployed and you're starting at the dwindling bank account.  Or that the toxins you need infused today to ensure your longevity will be gone from your body eventually and you're old energy will return.  Or that with care & attention, a broken trust can be restored.

Being rather into color and texture- and a lover of hokey metaphors- I like to imagine a giant tapestry of resilience that I'm weaving every day, even when I'm oblivious to doing it.  Playing with my dog is a thread.  As is a small fleet of iron clad friendships involving lots of laughter and fast talking.  Or writing silly haiku with my husband.  Or regular talks with my mom.  Or an imperfect faith in God.    By tying the threads, maybe I'll get through.  Hopefully, it'll be enough to wrap myself in when the really hard crap hits the fan and I need a good, warm blanket.  And if I'm really lucky, I'll have something pretty to look at in the end.