Sweat. Nausea. A racing heart. Check, check, check. All the signs of terror, present and accounted for. Hundreds of taillights flickered in and out of view as we raced headlong into darkness. I wanted more than anything to slow down, to stop, to get off the road and breathe. But that was not an option.

Fear is still embedded in the memory from thirty years ago; the emotion is as clear as that night was not. Exhausted by a transatlantic flight, I had merged mindlessly onto the freeway out of LA International, then realized too late that coastal fog had rendered visibility near zero. Other drivers didn't notice; they were still going 70 miles per hour. I couldn't slow down, pull over, or stop without risking a rear-end crash.

I recently had a similar but gentler experience at home. When I got up that morning and glanced out the window for a view of city lights, the darkness was startling. It took a moment to recognize the fog of winter inversion. That time, I needed only retreat to the living room for the consolation of a warm fireplace until the fog lifted.

I struggle with fog at any speed. My desire for direction demands a clear view of the road ahead. My craving for certainty insists on orienting itself to the landscape. 

But we do not always get what we want. Fog, whether literal or metaphorical, is intrinsic to life. The questions hang in midair unanswered: Where am I? Where am I going? How do I get there?

I make plans. In fact, I make fantastic plans. I work out the details, generate what-if scenarios, and develop alternatives B, C, and D. I do my best to penetrate and prepare for the fog of possibilities that lie ahead. Yet, I am often surprised. I miss my flight. The projector breaks. I catch the flu. My business fails. What next?

It takes a stout spirit and firm resolve to wake and rise on foggy days. It takes even more to go outside and accelerate to freeway speed. Driving in the fog calls for caution. It calls for mindful attention to detail and intuitive response to changing conditions. It also calls for faith: the faith that other drivers will maintain an even speed and direction without dramatically slowing, veering off the road, or stopping without warning.

As I sat in the living room watching the sun break through, I reflected on the lesson of the day. It takes a stout spirit and firm resolve to wake and rise on any day, as every day has its large share of the unknown and unknowable. As I emerge from the safe cocoon of knowing where I am, I enter the hazy reality of where I am going. I trust in the strength, resolve, and intuitive wisdom to adjust, whatever appears.

(For a few weeks, I am making time for a new writing project by re-publishing some favorite past Reflections from the collection in my book, Going Deeper.  This one was first written last winter, during one of our periodic Missoula inversion events.