Firefly Moments
We often struggle with what we don't know. But just as often, it's what we’re sure of that trips us up. Certainty itself has become the problem.
Clinging To Certainty
Certainty feels safe. Comfortable. It lifts the burden of choice and the discomfort of not knowing. But left unexamined, it can quietly become a hiding place — a belief formed from a few experiences, under a few specific conditions, then filed away forever as fact.
"People can't be trusted." "I'm not the creative type." "This is just who I am now." "It's too late to change."
Or, in my case: “I could never travel to Italy.”
Each of these certainties is a small block. On its own, no big deal. But by midlife, we've stacked up enough of them to wall ourselves in — around our relationships, our capabilities, what's "realistic" for us. It happens slowly, one firm conclusion at a time, until we look up and realize we're stuck.
Dancing With Discomfort
Seeing my own stack of blocks beginning to take up space, I packed an oversized suitcase with everything ‘certainty’ may need and booked the trip to Italy @*&%! Naturally, discomfort resisted. But it turns out discomfort has a strange gift: clarity.
Push a little past our usual edges, and suddenly we see ourselves more sharply than the comfort of certainty ever allowed. I think of discomfort as the bridge between certainty and possibility — a rite of passage that dares us to test our own limits and, in doing so, meet a truer version of ourselves. When we walk that bridge often enough, it feels less daunting, seemingly smaller - and in its place comes a feeling of expansion - more joy, more self-compassion, more curiosity.
Contemplating this over a limoncello spritz, I came to see how possibility can wake up parts of us that had been quietly dozing on the sidelines. I used to cook, entertain, and even… dance. Where had that gone?
Embracing Possibility
In Italy, discomfort was with me when I climbed a lot of hills (like a lot), socialized well beyond my social battery, and stepped out of my well-curated routine. Each time, I came out the other side a little lighter, a little more grateful, a little more open. This new vantage point gave me glimpses of possibility ahead that I hadn't been seeing. Much like when we catch wee glimpses of fireflies — brief, flickering moments that only show up when we are paying attention. Each one is small on its own. But string enough of them together, and they start to sketch something bigger: a clearer sense of who you are. A recalibration, if you will… and only then can we know where we may go from here.
That's the real invitation: to stay honest with ourselves long enough to wonder what else we might experience, learn, or love if we let go of what we’re so very sure of.
So… what’s your ‘Italy’?
