Dancing with the Unknown
What we really mean when we say we don't know
Hello friend,
Today I contemplate the terrain of not knowing, starting by making a list of things that I didn’t know before and things I still don’t know. On this list lives things like: what taking on a leadership role would be like for me, who I was going to be as a leader, who am I if I’m not a _____________ (enter job title), would I get the poems discussed at the poetry retreat, would I really walk 140km without taking a taxi, can I write 1000 word essays - the list goes on.
And how extremely uncomfortable and healing it is to pour these questions out from my mind onto a page.
Indulging in so many questions at one go is a disconcerting affair. My heart rate quickens ever so slightly and my palms start feeling clammy. My logical mind understands that I have already sought answers to questions from the past, for example, who I am as a leader, yet this morning I am filled with this unsettled feeling.
Naming the Terrain
If I take a moment to be honest to myself about what Really stops me from moving forward, it’s never really not knowing. How can it be, when I find myself a text away from wise friends and a Google search away from answers I need?
What causes me to freeze in my tracks is fear, standing between what’s here and where I’d like to be such that the path is obscured; fear, putting blinkers on me so my vision tunnels to shut out all other possibilities.
I don’t like admitting that I’m afraid. Scared is not who I think I am - I am plucky, daring, bold, I’m the person riding the rollercoaster with my arms up, screaming at the top of my lungs while posing for the ride photo, not the one sitting in the worry whirlpool, talking myself out of doing something just because I’m afraid to - but truth-telling, and naming the terrain is helpful for me to begin to take little steps forward.
The gift of being a coach is never feeling alone in what I’m navigating for myself, because my clients bring to me topics that are inherently human, putting us on common ground - and what a lovely thing it is to know that at the end of the day, we’re in good company as we figure things out. I do not speak about my clients outside of sessions we have together, so I share with you what I’m learning about my relationship with fear instead, in the context of back when I got stuck creating this Substack.
When Proven Tactics Fail
It’s May 2025, and I’ve hit what should feel like a halfway mark of my sabbatical - six months/half a year/remnant adherence to the rhythm of the financial calendar says “we’re kicking off the next FY soon”. Multiple people have told me I should write a Substack and I agree - I would love nothing more than to be able to pen my thoughts in a (hopefully) coherent manner as I navigate my career break but somehow, I’m not able to start.
So I default to winning tactics that have worked well for me, like the JFDI (Just F*ing Do It) method that tells me to channel my inner Shia LaBeouf (note: lots of yelling in this video!) while eating the frog, or calling upon my hyper-rational saboteur who tells me to just break the task down into constituents, put them on a timeline, block out the “what ifs”, and asks questions such as: who’s really interested in reading what you’re writing anyway, and maybe your writing won’t be good enough to get subscribers so does it really matter? (I know, this saboteur’s got quite the sharp tongue, eh?)
This time, these tactics left me with a (beautifully formatted) content calendar and.. no content.
Surfacing Tender Truths
I brought my writing block into a coaching session with the intention of inspecting it, hearing what it has to say to me and hopefully, removing it.
In the spaciousness that is created and held in a coaching conversation, deep discovery flourishes.
For me, having the room to go beyond the symptom of “not writing my Substack” and sitting with the not knowing how to move forward revealed a tender truth I had been hiding for a while now - that my value of creativity had been silenced and suppressed all this time, in service of fitting a corporate mould of what was expected of me.
I’ve always said that all I want is to be seen by the people who love me, and perhaps that’s what the writer in me has been waiting for all this time as well.
A week later, I published my first post. Six weeks after, I celebrated my 100th subscriber.
The fear of starting doesn’t ask to be erased. It asks to be understood.
An Invitation
This is the tender territory I’ve found myself in, and is the same place I accompany my clients through - whether they’re sure that there has to be more to life, having a brief knowing that something has to change or are simply feeling lost.
There are no maps for these moments, but luckily for us, there are arrows to follow that emerge from powerful questions to ponder, truth-telling, and a kind of listening that lets you give words to what you’ve been ignoring.
If you find yourself in this space - not quite sure what’s next, but knowing something has to shift - you are not alone. I would be honoured to walk alongside you, in the same way you’ve walked along with me on my Substack journey.
Lowering the volume,
Min
Curious about what coaching with me is like? I offer a free initial conversation - not a sales pitch, but a sampler for you to decide if coaching will help you honour what your heart wants at the moment.
Hello from your 100th subscriber! I wear that badge with pride.
Yesterday I wrote about one big thing I don’t know about, and experienced that sense of unease and anxiety. It started with a prompt from Beth Kempton’s Kokoro, and I’m still feeling a bit shaky. But I know that this is the way to make progress. I know I can do hard things. Thanks for sharing.
Beautiful, Min! I love: The fear of starting doesn't ask to be erased, it asks to be understood. Our hearts deserve this.