
It’s been a hell of a day. I’m finally seventy miles in the air on a flight to D.C., then on to Indy — finally being the keyword.
I’d spent the day in Savannah, Georgia, wrapping up a client’s strategic retreat. The plan was simple: finish by 4:30, get to the airport, and two-hop home to Indy by midnight.
That was the plan — until it wasn’t.
The Day Everything Changed (Again andAgain)
The first sign of trouble came at 9:12a.m.: a text that my first flight was canceled. The rebooked flight wouldn’t leave until 6:25 a.m. the next day.
Cue the scramble. My co-facilitator and I debated options — stay overnight, drive, or find another flight? The client’s executive assistant came through with a new booking on another airline. Relief, briefly.
By midafternoon, that flight was delayed three hours, guaranteeing a missed connection. Drive it was — until we discovered the one-way rental fee: $578. Too steep. A second rental company quoted $179, so off we went to swap cars.
Just as we reached the counter, another text arrived: our flight was back on schedule.
In eight hours, our travel plans changed five times. Through it all, we reminded ourselves: the client came first.
The Irony of It All
Two days earlier, I’d drafted this blog titled “Black, White, or Grey.” My note to myself read:
“I need a story...”
Well, I got one — a crash course in ambiguity. Every time I thought we had certainty, the universe laughed andshifted the plan.
Living in the Grey Zone
Here were my original thoughts:
When we can count on things, our minds relax. But when life throws us uncertainty, part of our brain keeps grinding on the “what ifs.”
You’ve probably felt it — waiting for medical results, a job offer, or financial news. In that limbo, the imagination runs wild. When the answer finally comes, even bad news can feel like relief.Knowing seems better than not knowing.
Safe Is an Illusion
Yet as much as we crave certainty, ambiguity is everywhere. Few choices are purely yes-or-no, and the higher the stakes, the murkier the options.
Avoiding that tension keeps us stuck:
“Safe” can be dangerous. The certainty we cling to often crumbles:
The real skill is learning to be comfortable being uncomfortable — to see ambiguity not as chaos but asopportunity.
Our Fear of Uncertainty Fuels BinaryThinking
As a culture, we are deeply uncomfortable with ambiguity. That discomfort often leads us to make quick, rigidjudgments—labeling things as either good or bad, right or wrong, masculineor feminine. We cling to the false comfort of certainty, bypassing the deeper truth that “both/and” is not only possible—but often more honestand liberating.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the way we’ve been taught to associate the masculine with power and virtue, and thefeminine with weakness or danger. This false binary is embedded in nearly everylayer of American life—from pop culture and religion to our education system, economic structures, and family norms. These stories are old, but they’re notbenign. They shape how we see ourselves—and how the world sees us.
My hope is that, together, we can begin tosee how binary thinking has limited us as women—and start to unlearn it. As weembrace more integrated, non-dual perspectives, we unlock a fuller truth: thatboth masculine and feminine energies carry wisdom and worth. This shift is notjust intellectual—it’s deeply personal. It’s how we move from constraint towholeness, from survival to sovereignty.
A Postscript from 35,000 Feet
We did eventually fly from Savannah toPhilly — only to face another three-hour delay. At 2:00 a.m., bleary-eyed butsafe, we finally landed in Indy. We met great people, shared stories, andlaughed at the absurdity of it all.
Travel — like life — rarely goes as planned. The choice is always ours: complain about what we can’t control oradapt, learn, and move forward.
After all, ambiguity isn’t the enemy.It’s the space where growth begins.
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It’s been a hell of a day. I’m finally seventy miles in the air on a flight to D.C., then on to Indy — finally being the keyword.I’d spent the day in Savannah, Georgia, wrapping up a client’s strategic retreat. The plan was simple: finish by 4:30, get to the airport, and two-hop home to Indy by midnight. That was the plan — until it wasn’t.
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