On anchoring the self when everything else shifts

The other day, I was speaking with a group of final-year students and then with young professionals over tea. We spoke about their plans, aspirations, and the restless excitement of stepping into the world. But beneath all those confident words, I sensed something quieter — a pulse of unease.
One of them finally said it aloud, “Sir, it feels like everything is changing too fast. How does one stay sure of anything anymore?”

That question lingered with me long after the conversation ended. Because truthfully, I could relate. Even after decades of experience, the world now feels like a moving target — policies change overnight, technologies become outdated before they stabilize, and even values seem to be in revision every few months. The rate of change has outpaced our inner ability to adapt.

But if we look deeper, the quantity of uncertainty hasn’t changed as much as our relationship with it has.

Why Uncertainty Feels Heavier Now

First, the variables have multiplied. Earlier, life moved at a manageable rhythm — family, work, community, health. Today, we juggle dozens of moving parts: social media visibility, digital dependence, global news, financial volatility, and a thousand choices that demand instant decisions.

Second, technology has given us a seductive illusion of control. With every app, we can plan, predict, and optimize. So, when something slips beyond our control, it feels like a personal failure. The unexpected is no longer seen as life — it’s seen as an error in our system.

Third, the flood of information has made us believe that everything requires a reaction. Every new headline feels like a personal signal to act, pivot, or worry. We have confused awareness with anxiety.

Fourth, the modern mantra of “stability, growth, and positivity” has turned into an invisible performance pressure. We expect life to move upward in a straight line. When it dips, we panic — as if change itself were unnatural.

And lastly, our social structures have thinned. Families are smaller, neighborhoods are quieter, and friendships often live through screens. Without those steady relational anchors, every external shift feels more personal, more threatening.

It’s not that uncertainty is new — it’s that we have fewer places to rest when it arrives.

The Rhythm That Never Left

Whenever I feel that unease rising, I try to step outside and watch the world that doesn’t need a calendar reminder to stay balanced.

The trees still follow their own patient timelines.
The sea, despite storms, finds its rhythm again.
The birds migrate without an app to track them.
And the sun — dependable and disinterested — still rises every morning whether we are ready or not.

Nature doesn’t hurry through its changes, nor does it cling to its certainties. It simply trusts its own rhythm. There is something profoundly healing in remembering that — the universe still holds patterns that don’t depend on human stability.

Maybe certainty was never meant to be about controlling change. Maybe it was about witnessing continuity.

Cultivating Inner Certainty

When the world feels unpredictable, the practice isn’t to find permanent answers but to nurture steady eyes.
To wake up and still notice what has not changed: the way light enters your window, the comfort of familiar faces, the warmth of a shared meal, the small rituals that make life quietly dependable.

Certainty, I’ve learned, grows from paying attention to these recurring blessings — the unadvertised rhythm of ordinary life.

The Quiet Question

So perhaps the invitation isn’t to chase control, but to recognize what still stands, unshaken.
The morning breeze.
A kind word.
Your own breath.
Your ability to begin again, no matter what yesterday held.

Take a moment today and ask yourself —
What has remained unchanged in your life, despite everything that shifted around you?

It may not be much, but sometimes that’s all you need to begin trusting life again.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar