The Next Step

I stood at the top of the stairs, hesitant and frightened to take a step down. The pain was excruciating. The physical therapist held my arm and my waist tightly. “Just take the next step. Don’t worry about the whole staircase . . . just take the next step.”

I let one tear fall, quickly swiped it away, sucked in my breath – and promptly sat on the top of the landing, defeated. I just didn’t have the strength to climb down one step, and the pain was too much to bear. I was tired and angry and really just had had enough of pretending to be strong. The therapist let out a compassionate sigh. “It’s OK. You just have to listen to your body. We can try again.”

I sat silently on the landing and stared into nothing for a little while. It was hard to imagine I had once been co-captain of my soccer team or rocked a spin class almost daily. Hell, it was hard to imagine I could go once go food shopping alone. Now I was going down the stairs like a toddler on my behind and using a support just to get in and out of bed. I knew this “new normal” was temporary – I had been through an autoimmune flare before and would get through this one, too – but I was still overwhelmed.

Just take the next step. The words resonated with me. I said them over and over again in my head. This was more than just about walking or climbing stairs. What was the next step? I didn’t know anymore. Life tends to force us into redefining ourselves, our goals, and our passions over and over and over again. And I’ve always had this tendency to look at the whole, tall staircase – never just the next step. So often, that would trigger feelings of failure or inadequacy, which at best stole my joy and at the worst caused more pain.

The therapist sat down next to me. I refused to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry,” I said meekly. “I just wasn’t sure if I would fall.”

“It’s OK not to know what’s going to happen next, you know,” she said gently. “You don’t always need to know how it’s going to turn out.” I was fairly sure we weren’t talking about my inflamed joints anymore.

But she was right. These past few months have been tough. I know that they’ve been tougher for others – friends and families who have lost children, parents, and spouses, suffered terminal illnesses, and endured many traumas. I knew that then and know it now. So much suffering, much worse than what I was experiencing, and far less temporary. But my pain was still there and it was very real. And I thought, at times, it would never go away.

Chronic pain has a funny way of teaching you how to redefine success. Sometimes, success just meant I was able to put my own socks and shoes on that day. Other days it meant accepting I had to rest and be at peace with not accomplishing much of anything. Through that time, I’ve slowly learned that not knowing – not controlling the outcome – actually gives us space to create. Without being attached to a particular outcome, we are suddenly open to different options that the universe wants to share with us.

Like many of us, I’ve spent most of my life planning and scheduling and accomplishing, and trying to control outcomes. I’ve caused myself stress, ulcers, and quite a few autoimmune flares. My body has forced me – literally – to stop and think and reset. To be present and mindful in the moment.

And here’s what I’ve found: sometimes it really is okay not to know or even plan what’s next. There is a delicious freedom in the not knowing, in the dreaming, creating, and wishful thinking. By letting go, we open ourselves up to our passions and our purpose. We are free to receive. We are free to create. We are free to feel, and then to use those emotions to constructively fuel us.

More than that, I’ve learned that these experiences that challenge and try may actually be gifts. Oh, that’s a hard one to swallow for sure, even now. But the anger and resentment, I’ve found, only camouflage the lessons we are supposed to learn. What if these trials are an opportunity to grow and change and expand? To become bigger than we were? It’s so hard to accept that. So very hard. But what if we looked at these challenges in that way? What could we co-create? What could we put forward into the world?

I still have no answers. Yet for the first time – ever – I feel comfortable with the questions and feel calm in the not knowing. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know when I’ll be completely better; I don’t know when I’ll feel well enough to finish my book or take on more clients; I don’t know when I’ll walk up and down the stairs again without pain; I don’t know what purpose this disease has for me. I don’t know why life brings so many seemingly unfair challenges to so many people I know or to so many innocents around the world. I just don’t know.

What I do know right now is that it’s fine to just think about the next step. Sometimes that means sitting with the uncomfortable emotions for a bit. Other times it means taking action. Most of the time it means being mindful of the here and now without becoming overwhelmed by the entire staircase. We can just sit on the top step for a bit if we need to.

So many people believe a new year is a fresh start, a clean slate – and in some ways, it can be. But I’d like to take the challenges I’ve experienced and lessons I’ve learned in 2017 with me into 2018. They were gifts, opportunities even, in their own ways. Really, it’s never the easy times that expand our souls toward our greater purpose.

And so, this year, I will try to mindfully embrace the not knowing and just focus on that next step, because sometimes, it’s that one simple step that can transform us.

* This article originally appeared on The Huff Post.