The best way to dispel fear and uncertainty—lean into love, follow the joy. Hold them both close. This is what my late-talking children taught me.

Unprecedented times. Uncertain times. All of us, all across the world, whether you live in a country over in Europe, Asia, or here in the States, we find ourselves in this place, in this new world of uncertainty.

In fact, the only certainty we have is that we have none.

Most of us understand what’s coming with this pandemic, some of us are already in the thick of it with the pain and grief and the loss. Others don’t yet see, don’t yet understand—or are simply afraid to.

This giant wave will touch many of our lives, perhaps not physically, maybe not in our bodies (God willing), but our family’s lives? Our neighbors? How we simply move about and exist in this world, whether it’s our ability to keep working or shop or go down to the beach and feel the sun warming our skin or hearing the waves rolls and crash on the sand like silent thunder?

This world that we share with our neighbors, our community, it’s changing…

And we don’t know what will happen.

We don’t know how we will look coming out the other side.

Some of us—many—don’t even know how we will afford to pay rent, food, electricity. Some of us—many—we will lose loved ones in this wave… and the following waves that will come after. We will hurt. We will be in deep pain—heck, many of us are already there.

We don’t’ know what will happen next.

We don’t know when our schools will reopen and when restaurants will be allowed to dust off their tables and barstools (if they’re still able to open their doors for business). We don’t know when the gates to our beaches and hiking trails will be unlocked and open to us once again, or here in Los Angeles when the freeways will be clogged with traffic once again.

We just don’t know when.

Living in this uncertainty, living with this ambiguity, that we don’t know what will happen next or how this will all shape out or how our lives will be affected—financially, personally—is hard. Really, really hard.

It’s scary—

Hell, it’s frightening.

Those feelings you have and I have are real and they are valid. I believe every single person who’s aware and understand is living with these exact same feelings. We are not alone. You are not alone. So many of us get what you’re feeling because it’s exactly what I’m feeling, too—and it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to grieve for what we’ve lost or what we will lose—

That’s part of this human experience; that’s part of what it means to be human.

To feel.

The key, though, especially right now, is to not get stuck in those feelings. To be trapped by that fear and hopelessness; to not let the uncertainty pull you under and hold you down… down so far that you can’t see the sunlight, that you can’t see the many blessing and gratitude you have even in this really, really hard moment…

(All of which is a hell a lot easier to say than to actual do, to actually live with this feeling and knowing and belief. Especially right now. Believe me, I get it.)

Like many of you, I’ve been keeping abreast of the coronavirus as it’s slowly unfolded these past few months. Watching as the outbreak spread, how it made its way to the US and then… the explosion that happened—that’s still happening and deepening even as I write this. How everything moved and changed so quickly, how it caught so many people off guard, especially when they’d been told they were safe and there was nothing to fear. Nothing to worry about.

That it was okay. That it was contained.

Then came the mad dash and overwhelm as the fear took hold in our communities and in ourselves, this primal need to control what small amount we could control even though the situation had already spun far, far out of anyone’s control.

I was doing a pretty good job with controlling my own fear, to staying centered and present… and then I went to Wholefoods to buy food because our local farmers market was still closed, and that’s when my fear came roaring to the surface.

Seeing all those empty shelves.

So very many. Just… empty.

Out of the list I’d brought with me, I was only able to buy apples and oranges (to be fair the apples were the most important item on my list because it’s one of the few things Eric will happily eat). But I knew I was gonna be okay; we would get food…

Right?

I made a point of deeply thanking the cashier for being there, that I appreciated her work.

But as I drove home, the fear hit hard. Real hard. Like at some primal, old part of my soul, from this place that stemmed from many past lives where hunger was real. From my family’s own lineage, especially the strong, capable women in my mother’s line who’d sailed to the United States completely by themselves and with no family. The women who’d lost husbands at early ages and yet still had children to care for and feed. These women didn’t have the opportunity to feel, to hurt, to be scared.

They had no choice but to keep moving because they had to.

I was actually blessed to hear some of these stories from my grandmother just before California went on lockdown; my grandmother who will be one hundred in just a few short months (she’s also someone very much in my thoughts and heart right now as we move through this time).

I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I was driving home from Wholefoods, with those rows and rows of empty shelves, I’d actually tapped into what those women had felt. Those women of my line faced with hunger, with so very little to shelter and give to their children. This deep emotional response, almost paralyzing, this fear…

Some of this fear that was mine, and some which wasn’t.

When I got home Sean wasn’t in a place to hold this space with me and listen to what I’d experienced and what I was feeling. He was stressed. He was trying to work from home and balance watching our kids while taking a call from work.

I felt alone. I felt unheard, unseen.

Except I wasn’t; I knew that.

I reached out to a community I’m apart of, others who are walking this alternative path to spirituality and leadership (it’s here at Sage Goddess, if you’re interested). I shared with my community how I felt and asked to be seen. I asked to just… just not be alone.

And I wasn’t.

The responses of love came flooding in and I found myself breathing again, lighter and easier. I realized, too, that so much of this wasn’t just my fear but my ancestral line coming through me.

I felt better.

I talked with Sean, too, about how I felt and why. I also said that he shouldn’t be saying “yes” for me to go to the grocery store when he needs me to watch the kids, especially when he has a work call.

Adjustments. Changes. Plans for the future and then the flexibility to change those places as we move through this uncertain time.

But everything I’m talking about here is a practice. It’s not something you get right once, wipe your hands, and say you’re good… which I was so clearly reminded of in that moment. I’d found myself sliding back to this place of fear, being pulled under by all the unknowns and uncertainty…

Because I’d listened to too much news.

Because I’d read too many comments or articles, especially those steeped in fear on Facebook.

All of those block me from my ability to be present, to be creative, to connect with my family and reach out to loved ones with all the many ways and tools we have now. This isn’t to say never to stay informed, but to not live in it. Because when I’m blocked, when my love is blocked, life itself gets blocked—and there’s nothing but fear waiting for me.

So I’m cutting back on the news and the podcasts I listen to about this (I’ve also stopped watching the documentary series, Pandemic, on Netflix). Instead I’m watching shows like Our Planet or shows about history like Viking Warrior Women on Disney+. I’m texting and calling friends and plan to do more Facetime soon. Maybe even go live with my online community.

But what I’m really trying to do is fill my own cup, to find my own tiny bits of happiness and joy within all this—as best as I can, anyway (because it is a practice).

It wasn’t until today, after listening to a podcast by Rob Bell, one that was also about hope and light, that I realized I did have a lot of experience moving through uncertainty, living with ambiguity, with not knowing how or why or when life would change…

My kids taught me this.

My kids who were the ones that first called on me to keep living my life, to stay present, to stay loving and to connect even in the face of fear and the unknown. To release fear and to let go, to simply accept this moment as it is.

Because I had no idea when Kate would start talking. Or Eric. Or… if ever.

I had no idea.

I had my own gut sense, yes, my own intuition that we were on the exact path we needed to be, but there was no foregone conclusion how this would all turn out, how it would look like or when. There was no certainty. And frankly I still don’t know what this end will look like for us because we’re still on this path. The truth though is I already knew how to live with this uncertainty…

I’d just forgotten.

Even with my kids, even now, it’s all still a practice. I’m still constantly being reminded when my fears about their future sneaks on in—and it’s really good at being sneaky. Like as soon as you figure out one corner the fear’s been hiding under and shine a light there, you find another corner and another…

You have to stay aware, to stay vigilant and keep shining that light.

The best advice I can offer, from my own experiences of not knowing, is to practice being present.

To simply… Be.

One of the greatest teachers for this is Eckhart Tolle. His first book, “A New Earth,” changed so much of how I try to be in this life. He also did a chapter-by-chapter discussion with Oprah (you can find it on Super Soul Conversations from your favorite podcast catcher or also on YouTube).

Here’s a few tidbits to get your started on being more present…

Focus small. Close your eyes and feel your hands. Sense them. Feel the sun warming your check, your hair, you neck. Feel the wind gently tugging and pulling, how it moves through the leaves of the trees overhead, and the squirrels running up the long, lengthy trunks, nattering and chattering as they go.

That’s what I mean by present.

Just focus and fully see that flower. Watch it and just… just be with it.

Then be that way with your family.

Focus on the smiles, the joy. Let go of the fear and everything you “have to do.” Just go be with your kids. Color. Paint. Go on walks (while keeping a safe distance from others).

Just be with them.

Just be with yourself, even.

Through most of my journey with my kids being different, my mantra (which I learned after falling down many times in darkness and fear) has been this:

Follow the joy.

If my family was in joy then I knew were walking the path meant for us; we were doing exactly what we needed to be doing. Because of the joy. The joy was my light forward. The joy gave me knowledge in what my next right step needed to be.

Even during those hardest moments, like the times when I literally carried a screaming, thrashing Eric out of Disneyland in my arms because that’s all I could do in that moment, because it was the only way to help and support and that was to leave. Even with everyone watching, even with my own self being triggered and trying to stay calm, as people watched and judged, even then I tried to find the good in those moments. (Well… when we were in a safe place where I was able to find my own calm and centering and reflecting.)

I looked for the little successes and held those so very close. How perhaps Eric was doing okay regulating his feelings and then someone walked by with a tray full of French fries. (Eric’s very passionate about French fries.) Or maybe when I sat with him and all those feelings and let him just feel he’d come to me when he was ready to calm, ready to go on my back so I could wear him and my own energy could continue to calm and soothe him.

Little things.

In a way, when I looked back at those moments and found the successes in each of them, I was practicing gratitude. Gratitude for those little shimmers of life. This also helped to keep the fear and uncertainty at bay because I focused on the love.

I followed the love.

Right now during these uncertain times, I’m focusing on my family, of being out in nature and letting her heal us. I’m focused on doing my part to keep my grandmother safe and so many others like her. Instead of thinking about how we miss our friends I’m focusing on my kids learning to interact and socialize with each other, how Kate is now really pushing Eric to play with her, even when its outside his comfort zone, because she has no one else.

And in doing so, I’m watching as his play with her changes and grows.

I’m focusing on all of you who aren’t as familiar in living with uncertainty as I’ve learned to be (and am still learning). All of us who are feeling alone and scared and lost.

You are not alone.

We are not alone—and this is something we need to keep reminding each other, again and again, especially as move through this uncertain time…

You are not alone.

We’re together in this because… because we’re all human. We’re all one and the same.