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Somewhere down there, under the wing, water I know nothing about

September 16, 2026

Somewhere down there, under the wing, water I know nothing about

Under the plane's wing — the sea, which I can't see all of and most likely will never see from this height again. Just water, stretching in every direction as far as the eye can reach, its depth completely unknown to me, its currents unknown too, and what's happening right now, beneath the surface, even more so. And at that moment, strangely enough, this isn't frightening at all — it's actually calming, because I'm not even trying to understand all of it at once, in full, in every detail. I'm just flying over it, trusting that the plane knows its way even without me seeing the bottom.

I thought then, looking out the window, how strangely we're built when it comes to our own future. With changes in health, in life, with any big unknown ahead, we demand exactly the opposite of what's happening right now in this flight: see the bottom before we even decide to take a single step. Understand everything in advance, calculate every possible risk down to the last digit, eliminate all uncertainty down to absolute zero — and only then allow ourselves to move. But uncertainty can almost never be reduced to zero, not in a flight over the ocean, not in a life on the ground, no matter how carefully we prepare.

I've seen this pattern in a lot of people who faced major changes — in health, at work, in relationships. Waiting for full clarity before acting is, in essence, waiting for something that will never come, because the very nature of the future is such that it always contains an opaque, unseeable part, no matter how much information you gather in advance. A person who waits for full visibility of the bottom before flying simply never takes off — and calls it caution, even though it's really just a life postponed forever.

Someone once told me how, before a serious change in their health, they spent months gathering information, reading, consulting, postponing the decision again and again while waiting for the moment when everything would become perfectly clear. That moment never came — because it couldn't come in principle, there were too many variables involved in their specific situation. In the end, they took the step exactly when they realized: trusting the process and their doctors mattered more than trying to personally calculate everything down to the last detail, which was impossible to calculate in the first place.

You can fly over the unknown without seeing the bottom, and still land safely at your destination. That's not recklessness and not blind faith — it's just an honest admission of the fact that a hundred percent visibility ahead is never fully given to anyone, in any big decision in life. And waiting for that hundred percent visibility before allowing yourself to move means, in essence, never taking off at all.

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