Listening to the Unknown: Embracing the Journey of Uncertainty

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Today is Tuesday.

Christmas has passed, and 2025 is rapidly slipping into the rearview mirror the way years do, even if you think you are paying attention.

2026 is already close, just outside, beating on the door, and the sense that time just keeps accelerating feels more pronounced than ever.

This morning, I did something I almost never do.

I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I woke up much later than usual— 8:00 a.m. — and the time startled me.

It shouldn’t have; But it did.

I jumped up, went through my morning routine: 

first, a little movement to get the blood flowing, shower, brush the choppers, brew some coffee, and get on with the day.

There I was, sitting at the table with a warm mug in my hands, just looking outside at the trees moving in the morning breeze on this brisk, almost January day.

And that’s when I slowly began to realize it. No, it didn’t hit me; it wasn’t some epiphany, no lightning bolt from the sky or any light bulb moment.

Just a strange thought slowly becoming clearer and then turning into a strange feeling.

I checked my calendar.

There was nothing there.

Nothing important.

Nothing urgent.

Nothing I needed to be anywhere for; no product was due from me.

A calendar that, for decades, was the director of my life and which had never really been empty… was empty.

Not like when you are on vacation.

Not a pause.

Not a temporary reprieve. Empty.

My time today was my own.

All of it.

As this realization quietly solidified, the thought settled in firmly.

My life is different now.

And so here I sit, not thinking about plans or destinations, just standing at the edge of motion— feeling the familiar pull to move, but now without a clear reason, only a growing sense of longing to follow.

Retirement arrived on October 1st, 2025, it arrived with no fanfare at all.

It just arrived like another day on my calendar.

One highlighted with the simple word “Retired” marking the start of a new season in my life.

An alien season for me, if I am being honest.

We all kind of plan for it, but being ready for it? Well, that is a different conversation altogether.

So, this morning, I started writing a post about the New Year and what it will bring.

I was planning on something to wrap up 2025, and a feel-good post about ushering in 2026.

I was really struggling with writing it.

At first it wandered around, sounding like a travel brochure for a minute.

(Not a good one either)

Then it sounded like a “planning for 2026, with a list of what I want to do this year” post.

I was just stuck; that is the honest truth of the matter, and I wasn’t sure why.

I have written a lot over the years, about a lot of different things, and the posts that fill my blog site now have been fun and, for the most part, easy for me.

Normally I sit down and write as if we are sitting and talking over coffee or a beer.

That is just my style.

So why was this one so hard?

I bounced this back and forth mentally for a little while.

Then the mists cleared, and it dawned on me that most of my writing is normally reflective in nature.

That gave me pause. What was different here?

My entire adult life has been about trying to keep order in a life filled with obligations. I have been a father and a husband since post high school.

I have been a soldier, manager, holding high-level positions my entire career. 

All of that was full of unknowns, but the focus was always on successfully managing the mission.

It was never just sitting back, letting the breeze blow by, and saying, "Okay, where do we go today?"

As I filled my second cup, I thought about who I was, am, and where I am going.

My posture toward the world since I was a teenager has been:

See the unknown

Bound it

Manage it

Protect others from it

Move on anyway.

My life has been meticulously built and bounded by duty and responsibility.

I was thinking about how I always hear people speaking of new seasons, new chapters, and changes in life.

But never do I hear that anyone has taken the time to define them, and that is exactly where I was stuck.

Maybe that was the problem; we can't define them; we have to experience them.  

In reality, for me this is something radically different:

Seeing and accepting the unknown.

Not assigning it a task or timeline

Letting it remain open and trying to grow with it.

I need to learn how to just let the breeze blow through and decide whether to follow it today or not.

Because now, in this new season it is for me to decide. Get up or roll back over for another hour or two.

This next phase is not about what I am going to do; it is about me finally stopping bracing for impact and allowing life to happen. 

Giving myself permission to start trusting that tomorrow doesn’t need to be dominated or managed to feel safe.

As I write this now, I am thinking quietly through it.

I feel that tug, that longing, and I am realizing there is a quiet power in not knowing exactly what’s next and a strange new freedom that comes with it all.

After decades of schedules, goals, and obligations, retirement has opened a space where movement itself becomes the point.

Now there is a freedom to not feel as if I am daydreaming of ‘what if" or “I will someday” and can say, yes, today is or is not the day, and that is okay. 

More than okay, actually; it is liberating!

As 2026 is set to kick off, the pull to move now comes from curiosity rather than obligation.

It is a gentle invitation to explore without pressure or expectation.

Motorcycle rides through quiet country roads and train trips that follow no strict schedule.

Each step is a question rather than an answer, a way to listen to what life wants to reveal.

As I sit this morning with my coffee, writing these words, I am thinking about what today will bring.

So far, it has brought a stirring, a quiet pulling, a signal, and I am paying attention, listening closely to what the unknown wants to whisper to me.

I am looking forward to the moments and meanings yet to come.

The memories I have yet to earn, the stories that are yet to be shared, and learning far more about myself in the process.

I hope to see you out on that wonderful road in the coming new year.  Cheers to you all, and farewell 2025.

I wrote this thinking how truly blessed I am!

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