My Anxiety

I’ve come to realize that so much of my anxiety comes not from what’s happening—but from my resistance to what might happen. Reading has helped me understand this. Osho’s words helped me to understand surrendering and freedom. He spoke of surrender not as a defeat, but as a kind of freedom. “Let go,” he said, “and remain available to the present moment.” It struck me: life is a river, and I’ve been trying to dam it up with worry, plans, and expectations. I want certainty. I want control. But in chasing those things, I exhaust myself fighting what was never meant to be fixed.

Reading Lao Tzu; The Tao Te Ching showed me this in a quieter, more ancient voice: “Those who flow as life flows know they need no other force.” The Tao—the Way—asks me not to conquer life but to move with it. The more I try to assert control, the more disconnected I feel. But when I yield, when I stop grasping, I begin to feel something else: peace, trust, and a kind of soft inner strength. Letting go, then, isn’t giving up. It’s aligning. It’s choosing to meet life as it is, not as I think it should be. Uncertainty isn’t the enemy. It’s the teacher I’ve been avoiding.

What can I learn ? I’ve noticed that my mind is always trying to predict and plan. It’s constantly scanning for what could go wrong, playing out endless scenarios. I’ve learned this is how the brain evolved—it is a question of saftey. But most of the things I worry about aren’t immediate threats. They’re imagined futures. What if I lose something? What if I fail? What if I make the wrong decision? When I face something uncertain, my mind tends to double down. It creates mental simulations, digs into past regrets, and spins future fears like a broken 45. It feels like I’m doing something—but really, I’m just tiring myself out. I’m trying to solve life like a puzzle when maybe it’s meant to be danced with.

The revelation - Here’s what I’ve had to admit: much of what I believe I control, I don’t. I’ve bought into the construct like everyone else that if I just plan well enough, work hard enough, or worry long enough, I can control the outcome. However I can’t control timing. I can’t control how others feel, what they choose, or how life unfolds every second. This does not stop me from holding on. Holding on gives me a false sense of power in a world that feels overwhelming. But Lao Tzu reminds me: “Trying to control the future is like trying to take the master carpenter’s place.” When I try to force things, I often do more harm than good. The Tao doesn’t reward force—it honors alignment. Stillness. Trust. Letting go of this illusion doesn’t mean I stop caring. It means I start choosing where I place my energy. I focus on what I can influence—my actions, my mindset, my choices—and I try, gently, to release the rest.

The Choice - I’m learning to recognize the moment I slip into anxiety. I have started to ask myself: “Am I trying to control something I can’t?” That one question has saved me from countless mental spirals. It brings me back; to now. That simple act allows me to do something simple. I breathe. I write. I take a walk. I call a friend. I drink water. These aren’t big moves—but they anchor me. They remind me that I don’t need to solve everything right now. That I can trust the next step will reveal itself when I get quiet enough to notice it. The Tao questions, “Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear?”  In all honesty some days I do. Other days, I need reminding. But either way, I know that clarity doesn’t come from grasping—it comes from stillness.

Tough results - It’s hard for me to admit that I can’t guarantee outcomes; I am not built that way. My mind is analytical and everything i approach is from a logical and mathematical point of view; it is an equation that can and should be solved. In essence I want things to be predictable, safe, certain. But I’ve lived long enough to know that life doesn’t work that way. And I’ve come to understand that trying to force certainty only makes me feel more fragile. The more I tighten my grip, the more brittle I become. The flip is when I begin to let go—when I soften, even just a little—I feel something shift. I start to build resilience. I stop needing life to go a certain way in order to feel okay. I find myself becoming more open, more flexible, more alive. Some of the best things in my life came from moments of uncertainty—unexpected connections, changes I didn’t plan, risks I was afraid to take. Control would have shut those doors. But uncertainty, wild and uncomfortable as it was, led me somewhere meaningful. Osho was right: “Only in uncertainty is there freedom.” And the Tao whispers the same: that power isn’t in pushing—it’s in flowing.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop craving control entirely. I’m human. But I’m learning to stop feeding the illusion that my worry is what holds everything together. I’m choosing to trust myself more. To trust life more. To show up with intention, even when I don’t know how things will unfold. So I ask myself now, not “How do I make sure everything turns out okay?”—but “How can I show up fully, even when I don’t know what’s next?” That’s what I want: to live with less fear and more grace. To flow with life instead of fighting it. To find real strength—not in clenching, but in surrender. Like water, I want to move around obstacles. Like the Tao, I want to live lightly and deeply at once.

Uncertainty isn’t the end of peace—it’s the path to it. If I let go.

C