The waters of chaos and uncertainty
Noticing strengths and moments
Nobody was quite sure where to sit, and our trainer was making her way up to meet us in the gallery. Most of us had folding stools, and some folks has started arranging their seats into wandering rows on either side of the wide, leather-upholstered benches that filled half of the space.
I chatted with a new friend toward the front of the room, taking in the scene before I chose where I would sit.
Normally, our museum guide training happens in a classroom with neatly aligned tables and chairs, but that day a cascade of events meant that both our main room and a backup room were both unavailable.
Our excellent trainer came up with a place for us to meet despite it all, sending us to a gallery surrounded by massive paintings with glints of copper and white glimmering amidst heavy black paint.
Thinking of that morning now, I smile. Because in that moment of confusion for my cohort and throughout the three hours we met, I felt calm. What was disorienting to some of us was reassuring to me. I knew I wasn’t in charge, and I felt confident that I could flow with however things went.
It felt nice to divide my attention between the multiple inputs of the class lecture, a window to the outside, and the art around us.
That day was a contrast to other weeks, when I had to manage inputs with a combination of rose-lensed glasses, lightweight earplugs, and a magnetic fidget toy. That day, I didn’t have to feel simultaneously overstimulated by the density of a presentation and understimulated by having to sit still while focusing beyond my comfort level.
Driving back home, I reflected on the strangeness of enjoying the morning’s chaos. It had been YEARS since I’ve been in a scenario like that, amid a bustle of bodies unsure where they belonged, straddling the feelings of excitement and anxiety.
I was surprised to notice that I thrive in chaos, yet I wither in uncertainty.
In both chaos and uncertainty, we are unsure of what will happen next. The way I’m using these words here, I think of chaos as swirling and uncertainty as stagnating. The water of chaos churns and flows through rapids, soon to level out to a smooth river once more. The water of uncertainty, meanwhile, sits murkily in puddles of an unexpectedly drained reservoir, with no way of knowing when the leak will be fixed.
At class that day, I felt alive. Alive as I bobbed in cool, clear water made sheer through the bubbles of movement. Alive and excited.
Too often in the last few years, I’ve felt stuck. Stuck as I languished in lukewarm, sickly water made cloudy with particulates. Stuck and anxious.
Since that day at the museum, I’ve continued to think about uncertainty and chaos. And I think I might have made a little rediscovery. The way I move through chaos is to pay attention to where I am in the moment, and make decisions based on that moment.
Moving through uncertainty may require the same approach: To pay attention to where I am in a moment, and make decisions based on that moment.
I think I tend to forget this, because in the stillness of uncertainty, I think I can see a horizon, a future that I could one day move toward. But it’s an illusion. Whether in chaos or in uncertainty, or indeed when we do think we know what’s next, all we can know is what’s now, in this moment.
And in this moment, we are alive.
GSP update: A fabulous chapter on just what I need
I am so excited to have found another perfect-for-me secondary source.
The last chapter of Political Fallout by Toshihiro Higuchi tracks and summarizes important cultural and political moments and discussions of the two years leading to the Partial Test Ban Treaty of 1963. The chapter even mentions McGeorge Bundy, the white house advisor who met with the Grinnell Students for Peace at President Kennedy's request.
It’s just the right balance of concision and detail to quickly fill out my knowledge of the time. I am so relieved to find it.
And I found its book thanks to a little chain of internet research after watching a video that Tony (my partner) showed me about a nuclear test conducted by the U.S. in 1954 that was (MUCH) bigger than expected. I feel so loved, having him notice things like this for me, and delighted, by the paths we travel when we find out.
Mentioned in this issue: Paintings by Gerhard Richter and Anselm Kiefer in the St. Louis Art Museum Gallery 251; Political Fallout: Nuclear Weapons Testing and the Making of a Global Environmental Crisis by Toshihiro Higuchi; and a video about the Castle Bravo disaster in Bikini Atoll (Note that the video starts with a few seconds of a black screen—your device is working fine!).
"... to thrive in chaos yet wither in uncertainty" - a quote that is a powerful discovery for yourself and resonates.