When The Fog Rolls In

There are times in life when the road ahead vanishes. When the landmarks we once trusted dissolve into a soft blur, and all that remains is the quiet weight of not knowing. 

Like a hush before transformation, fog arrives as both veil and threshold, signaling the space between what was and what will be. Just as it forms in the shifting dance of temperature and air, so too does it mirror the seasons of our lives - the moments when the familiar recedes and we are left standing at the edge of the unknown. 

As the fog emerges, we often feel stifled. The inability to calculate the next logical step or find clues about where we are, who we are, and what lies ahead can feel daunting. In these moments, resisting the fog can seem wiser than surrendering to the unknown. 

I have encountered this fog many times. Like in my twenties, standing at the threshold of motherhood, my attention divided. One side of me was brimming with joy for the life unfolding; the other was enveloped by uncertainty and filled with questions: Who was I becoming? What would this new role be asking of me? 

I have felt it settle in at life’s crossroads, where choices loomed heavy and the road not taken whispered its endless possibilities. What is right? What is lost in choosing? Like the times I have had to turn down offers without knowing what would come in their place. When clarity is present, the steps reveal themselves. But when the fog descends, creating or following a direction can feel overwhelming. The weight of unknowing can press deep - both exhilarating and unsettling. 

These moments belong to life's bigger transformations. But fog also drifts into the subtleties of daily life. The quiet discomfort of stepping into something new without prior experience. The unfamiliar rooms, the foreign faces, the silent questions threading through the air: How do I belong here? Will I find my way? 

Navigating the fog is not easy. The mind grasps for certainty, for a glimpse of the horizon, for the comfort of direction. Yet, I have learned that the fog does not rush. It lingers, waiting for me to soften my grip - to let go of the urge to be in control, and to allow the new to emerge in its own time. 

I remind myself not to resist, for resistance only thickens the mist. Instead, I try to ask: What is shifting? What is cooling? What is taking form in the unseen? And is there something I am being asked to release? 

With time, I have come to see that moving through the fog is less about pushing forward and more about balance. It is about having a foundation rooted in self-listening. Not just with the mind, but with the body and spirit as well. When I manage to pay attention to all three, I open new channels of clarity and flow.  

"Clarity comes not from certainty, but from trusting the process." — Tara Mohr 

Perhaps the fog is not an obstacle but an invitation - to pause, to listen, and to receive. Perhaps it is not meant to be feared but met with curiosity and wonder. Fear causes us to freeze, making the fog feel like an unproductive and uncertain place. But what if we allowed ourselves to see these foggy moments as the perfect stillness needed to regain our sense of direction? Because one thing is certain: the fog always lifts. And when it does, the world emerges sharper, deeper, colored by a knowing that only comes from having walked through it. 

So, when the fog rolls in for you, how do you meet it? Do you rush to escape, or do you dare to linger, to listen, to feel its quiet wisdom settling around you? 

Love,
Sille