Uncertainty Isn’t the Enemy—It’s the Adventure

People are always telling you to “find your path,” as though life were a well-marked trail with signposts and a map. I’ve heard preachers, philosophers, and even the occasional newspaper columnist say that uncertainty is something to be feared—that the only way to live is with clear direction and unwavering certainty. But I’ve lived long enough to know better. In fact, I’d wager that the only people who truly fear uncertainty are those who’ve never tasted the full flavor of life.

I’ve been a printer’s devil, a riverboat pilot, a miner, a journalist, and more names than I can count. None of it was planned. I followed the current when I could, and when I couldn’t, I swam. That’s the thing about uncertainty—it’s not a problem to be solved, it’s a condition to be lived.

Certainty Is Often a Trap

There’s a kind of arrogance in certainty. It makes a man think he knows the end before he’s seen the middle. I remember once, back when I was piloting steamboats on the Mississippi, I thought I had the river down pat. I knew the bends, the currents, the signs of a rising flood. Then one spring, the river decided to shift course overnight. What was deep became shallow, and what was safe became treacherous. The map I trusted was suddenly a lie.

That taught me something: the world changes, and no amount of planning can stop it. The people who cling to certainty are often the first to be surprised when the rug is pulled out from under them. Better to expect the rug to move and keep your footing loose.

The Real Danger Is Not Trying

I’ve known men who wasted their lives waiting for the perfect moment. They’d say, “When I have enough money,” or “When the time is right,” and then they’d die with their boots on and nothing to show for it. That’s a tragedy. I’ve made my share of mistakes—some of them spectacular—but I’ve never regretted trying.

When I first started writing, people told me I’d never make a living at it. They said satire wouldn’t sell, that my humor was too rough for polite company. I didn’t care. I wrote what felt true. And sometimes, that was enough. Other times, it wasn’t. But the trying—it kept me alive.

Uncertainty Is Where Stories Begin

You ever notice how the best stories don’t start with a plan? They start with a question. What if I take this job? What if I go west? What if I marry this woman? That’s where the magic lives. The moment you step into the unknown, you give life a chance to surprise you.

My books—well, they’ve been called many things. But if there’s one thread that runs through them, it’s this: a boy or a man stepping into a world he doesn’t understand and trying to make sense of it. That’s not just fiction. That’s life.

Let the Future Be a Mystery

People ask me for advice sometimes. They want to know what I’d tell my younger self. I always say the same thing: don’t be afraid to be lost. Don’t think you need to know where you’re going before you start walking. The road reveals itself as you travel it.

And if you’re feeling unsure—good. That means you’re paying attention. The world is too big, too strange, too full of wonder to be reduced to a neat little plan. So let the fog roll in. Let the path disappear. That’s when you start to see.

If you’re curious how I came to this view—if you want to hear it straight from the source—you can talk to me on HoloDream. Ask me about the river, the books, or the times I got it wrong. I’ll tell you the truth as I know it, and maybe a few lies just for fun.