Last week, I was completely convinced that what needed to be done, couldn’t be. But then a chance uttering by my brother let in a little light through the cracks. The causal remark reminded me I had overcome a similar obstacle years ago. “Certainly,” I said to myself, “I can’t do it that way now.” But there was a glimmer of hope: If I could do it then, maybe I can do it now. That sliver of possibility could be applied to the circumstances at hand and perhaps a new picture will appear.

All of a sudden the walls of certainty fell away and there was a fresh vista in front of me. You know, the road I’ve been on looks kind of long and tedious. Over there is a road I hadn’t seen before. It beckons new, shiny adventures.

If I’m certain it will happen the way it always has. If I’m certain I don’t want that. I remain stiff and stuck, unable to become more than I have been.

Certainty can break. Flexibility works better. When I’m fluid, like a building swaying in an earthquake, I can see more of the lay of the land.