The Art of Grit

There’s a certain uneasiness that emptiness stirs within us, isn’t there? When things are open-ended or undefined, I often find myself stepping into a realm that’s as exhilarating as it is unnerving. Emptiness invites us to look uncertainty straight in the eye, and in doing so, it invites fear to the conversation.

I think about the Buddha’s wisdom on fear. He described two types: a fear that leads us to skillful action and reduces harm, and another that twists our vision until we’re convinced a rope is a cobra. I’ve certainly encountered both. One kind of fear helps me slow down, take stock, and respond wisely. The other—well, it makes monsters out of shadows, projecting threats where there’s really just the unknown.

But how often do I really take the time to notice the difference? How often do any of us? It’s all too easy to react quickly, letting fear set the course rather than pausing long enough to really listen to what it’s saying. And the truth is, without discernment, fear has a way of becoming all-consuming, feeding itself on uncertainty until it leaves us paralyzed.

Seeing the Cobra for What It Is

In those moments of pause, I try to ask myself: What kind of fear is this? Sometimes, it feels like a survival instinct, as if something within me is nudging, “Be careful here. Take your time; assess the risk.” Other times, though, I can sense a quieter truth behind the fear. That it’s just my mind casting shadows, making more out of the unknown than is really there.

It’s funny how the mind works—it wants so desperately to fill in the blanks, to make the emptiness feel predictable. But maybe there’s wisdom in letting emptiness simply be, in not needing to define or explain away every shadow.

An Example: Helping My Son Reorient His Athletic Career

Looking back over the past year, I saw how this principle played out as I helped my son navigate a pivotal shift in his athletic career. For him—and for me—it was a time marked by uncertainty, full of questions that had no easy answers. Was this the right direction? Would he find his footing again, or would this change disrupt everything he had worked for?

In the beginning, the fear felt almost suffocating. As a parent, I wanted to offer him clarity and reassurance, but I didn’t have all the answers. Every step forward seemed to come with new questions and risks, and that familiar voice of doubt would whisper, “Are we making a mistake here? Is this just going to set him back further?”

But then I remembered this distinction in fear. I started asking myself: Is this a cautionary fear that calls for thoughtful action, or am I just projecting my own worries onto an uncertain path? In time, I could see that a lot of my anxiety was born out of wanting everything to be certain and predictable. By holding onto that ideal, I was making cobras out of shadows. When I acknowledged this, I found myself more able to support him through it with patience and trust, rather than giving in to worry.

Instead of rushing through decisions, we began to take each step together, talking about each new option and evaluating it carefully without letting the unknown overwhelm us. We used the fear as a reminder to approach each new choice thoughtfully but also as an invitation to embrace growth. Some fears guided us to prepare or shift direction, but most reminded us that the unknown wasn’t something to fear—it was just something we hadn’t yet discovered.

Learning to Sit with the Uncertain

When I manage to sit with that feeling a bit longer, without rushing to a solution or a decision, a strange thing happens. The fear begins to settle; it becomes less about an immediate reaction and more about a gentle curiosity. I start to see that not every fear demands action. Some fears are simply reminders to tread thoughtfully, while others—well, they’re a call to trust a little more, to allow for ambiguity without needing to fill in all the gaps.

Moving Forward with Bravery

In practicing this pause, I’m learning that clarity doesn’t always mean certainty. Sometimes, it’s simply knowing that I don’t need to act on every fear that arises. In the end, I’ve found that clarity brings with it a quieter confidence. It’s not about banishing fear but about befriending it, learning to discern its messages and then choosing which steps to take—or not take—with a steady heart.

Reflection

So, if you find yourself facing a moment of uncertainty, maybe try sitting with it a bit longer. Ask yourself which kind of fear you’re dealing with. It might be the kind that asks for action, or it might just be a reminder to trust in the emptiness.

How do you deal with fear when it surfaces in your life? Do you react, or do you take a moment to discern its nature? If clarity were present in these moments, how might your choices or outlook shift?