The Shoulder-Shrug Kind of Peace

It’s 10:38 p.m., and I’m sitting at my desk. My son is on the floor watching YouTube, my daughter is sleeping soundly, and for some reason I decided to add one more thing to my to-do list before I shut my eyes tonight: write a blog post.

It has been months since I’ve written one.

I told myself it was because I’ve been busy. Because I’ve been prioritizing the things that will grow my business. Because there were more important things to do.

But if I’m being honest, I think it’s because I haven’t felt like I have anything new to say.

I am so done talking about my journey from full-time employee to entrepreneur. I left the job. I took the leap. I’m here now. Surely there has to be something else to talk about?

Maybe not.

Because this is where I am in life.

I am in the throes of entrepreneurship, dealing with inconsistent income—or sometimes no income at all—working from home, being around my kids almost all the time, trying to build something I believe in and, at the same time, going through what may be one of the toughest seasons of my relationship.

And somewhere between staring at this blank page and wondering what on earth I could have left to say, I remembered why I started this blog in the first place.

It was an outlet.

It was a place for me to express the things I sometimes struggle to say out loud.

And right now, what I struggle to say out loud is that this season is difficult.

It is new and exciting, but it is also terrifying. I don't think I have ever been more uncertain about so many areas of my life at the same time. I spend most of my days doing things that I have absolutely no idea will produce the results I want, and I do them anyway because, if there is one thing about me, I'm going to try something.

Some days, the uncertainty gets to me. I worry. I overthink. I wonder whether I’m doing enough, whether I’m doing the right things, whether I should be further along by now.

But when I’m not feeling melancholy about all of it, I feel strangely calm.

Not the kind of calm that comes from knowing everything is going to work out exactly the way I want it to.

More like a shoulder-shrug kind of calm.

Because really, what can I do to guarantee any of it?

Nothing.

I can show up every day and do the work, but I cannot guarantee that the work will bring me clients. Paying clients, especially.

I can talk to my children until I am blue in the face, teach them everything I know, correct them, guide them, and love them fiercely, but I cannot guarantee that they will listen to me or make the choices I hope they will make.

I can forgive someone. I can choose peace. I can decide that I don't want to carry anger around with me anymore. But none of that guarantees that the other person will change.

We have no guarantees in life.

Probabilities? Absolutely.

There are things we can do that make certain outcomes more likely. I can improve my offer, talk to more people, and get better at what I do, and that probably increases my chances of building a successful business. I can create a loving home, set boundaries, and try to raise my children well, and that probably gives them a stronger foundation. I can communicate, forgive, love, and try to do my part in a relationship, and maybe that creates better conditions for healing.

But none of those things give me control over the outcome.

And I think I have spent a lot of my life trying to turn probabilities into guarantees.

If I do this, then surely that will happen.

Except life doesn't make those kinds of deals with us.

That's uncomfortable for someone like me because I like doing. If something isn't working, my instinct is to figure out what I can do next. What can I change? What can I fix? What haven't I tried yet?

Sometimes there is something to do.

And sometimes you've done what you can do.

That is the part I'm learning now.

I'm learning that surrender isn't the same thing as doing nothing. I can still make the call. Send the email. Pitch the client. Work on the business. Have the difficult conversation. Parent my children. Make plans for tomorrow.

I can do everything that is mine to do without pretending that the outcome is mine to control.

And then I can breathe. And trust God with the rest.

I don't always get there quickly. Sometimes I have to worry first. Sometimes I cry first. Sometimes I run through a hundred possible scenarios in my head and try to figure out how I can prevent every bad one.

But eventually, I get there.

To that shoulder-shrug peace.

Not I don't care.

Not nothing matters.

Just...

I've done what I can.

Maybe that is what this season of my life is teaching me. Not how to become a successful entrepreneur, or how to have everything figured out, or even how to make the right decision every single time.

Maybe I'm learning how to live without guarantees.

How to keep showing up when I don't know what will happen next.

How to put effort into things I cannot control.

How to hope without demanding certainty.

How to trust God without requiring Him to show me exactly how everything is going to work out first.

And maybe I haven't been writing because I thought I needed to come back here with answers.

I don't have them.

Tonight, I'm sitting at my desk at almost 11 p.m. My son is still on the floor. My daughter is still asleep. I'm tired. There are things in my life that I desperately want to work out, and I cannot tell you with certainty that they will.

But tomorrow, I'll wake up, I'll do what I can, and then leave the rest with God.