One percent more curious

Lately, I’ve felt weighed down by the constant churn of chaos and uncertainty—like I’m carrying a low-grade tension in my body that never fully lets up. The news is dizzying. The pace of change is relentless. Some days it feels like we’re lurching from one crisis to the next with no time to process, no moment to exhale. I find myself waking up already bracing for what the day might bring. It’s like the ground is constantly shifting, and we’re all being asked to find our footing in real time.

And then there are the quieter, internal questions I carry with me—the ones that tug at me in the middle of the night or when I’m trying to make sense of the day: Am I doing enough? Am I doing the right things? What happens next—in my work, my community, this fragile world we’re raising our kids in? How do I protect what I love in a world that feels so unpredictable?

The truth is uncertainty makes me anxious. I like a plan. A path. A sense of direction. I’ve always found comfort in being the one who “has it together,” who can anticipate needs, offer advice, solve the problem. I used to believe that being prepared—being in control—was the answer. That if I could just think far enough ahead, work hard enough, care enough, I could stay one step ahead of the chaos. But that illusion has cracked open. The world is too complex for neat plans.

The one (only?) good thing about being addicted to reading the headlines is that I get more exposure to other articles, as well. A few weeks ago, I read a beautiful essay by Suleika Jaouad about her cancer diagnosis (gift link here). In it, she explores the evolution of her relationship with fear—beginning with an overwhelming unease around mice and culminating in a deeper confrontation with mortality and uncertainty following her leukemia diagnosis and relapse. But what really struck me was the final line:

“That’s what I found on the other side of fear: the knowledge that I can handle it, whatever ‘it’ is — as long as I’m one percent more curious than afraid.”

Yes! Yes. Curiosity.

Of course.

One of the first things I learned in coach training is that coaching isn’t about having the answers. It’s about asking better questions. It’s about holding space for exploration instead of rushing to resolution. It’s about trusting that people have wisdom inside them—not because you give it to them, but because you help them uncover it.

Needless to say, what we can seemlessly apply in other parts of our lives can be hard to internalize ourselves. We might be masters at holding space for others’ questions, but when it comes to our own, we often default to urgency, control, and the desperate hunt for answers.

But what I continue to learn and relearn is that certainty is often a false promise. It quiets anxiety in the short term, but it doesn’t foster growth. Curiosity does. When I stop demanding answers from the world, I create a little more space to breathe, to move, to imagine.

That shift doesn’t come easily. It’s much more natural to grip tightly than to open up. But embracing curiosity is a practice, not a personality trait or a fixed mindset. And when I can extend to myself the same spacious, open-ended wondering I offer others, something inside softens. I don’t need to have it all figured out. I just need to be willing to stay in the unknown a little longer.

Here are a few tangible strategies that help me when I feel myself bracing against the unknown:

Ask better questions

When I catch myself spiraling into fear, I try to interrupt the loop with questions that open space instead of closing it. Instead of, “What if this all goes wrong?” I ask, “What might I learn from this?” or “What’s one small thing I can act on today?” These questions don’t have neat answers, but they remind me that I have agency, even in uncertainty.

Name what’s true now

Fear tends to time-travel, pulling us into imagined futures. Curiosity helps bring us back to the present. I try to ask myself, “What do I know for sure right now? What’s actually happening, and what am I projecting?”

Be curious about your fear itself

Sometimes I sit with my fear and ask it questions: What are you trying to protect? What’s underneath this for you? Usually, I find something tender—a deeply-held value, a longing, a hope. And suddenly, the fear feels less like a threat and more like a signal.

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None of this removes the chaos or quiets the headlines. It doesn’t give me a five-year plan or a tidy sense of control. But it does give me a way to stay present in the mess. A way to keep moving, even when the path ahead isn’t clear. Curiosity doesn’t promise certainty—but it offers something better: connection. To ourselves. To what matters. To each other.

So, these days, when the ground feels unsteady and I start to brace against the unknown, I try—imperfectly, but intentionally—to choose curiosity over control. To soften instead of grip. To ask, instead of answer. It’s not always comfortable, but it helps me stay rooted in what’s real and responsive to what’s next.

And for now, that feels like a good place to begin.

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Read

How women in leadership can shape how others see them (HBR gift link) Ah yes, the classic “lose-lose” scenario for professional women, where they’re either seen as competent but cold or likeable but not very effective. This article provides practical tips for navigating the gauntlet.

How to turn parental leave into a strategic advantage (Fast Company) Read my recent article for great insights from Amy Beacom, the CEO of the Center for Parental Leave Leadership, on how forward-thinking companies successfully support new parents.

Reflect

Earlier this week, a client called me “young lady.” I’m in my 40s. I run my own business. And in that moment, I was offering a calm, measured challenge to something he’d said.

The comment may have been intended as playful, but it landed differently. It shifted the dynamic—subtly undermining my authority and reframing me as less expert, more precocious. It was a familiar, gendered move. One that women—especially those who lead—encounter all too often.

But what struck me most wasn’t just what he said. It was when: the moment I pushed back.

That’s when I paused. Yes, there was a layer of everyday sexism at play. But I also recognized something more human beneath it—a discomfort with being challenged. And I started to wonder: how do I respond when I feel threatened or exposed? When my authority is questioned? Do I use humor? Intellectualizing? Do I subtly shift the dynamic to protect myself?

So here’s what I’m reflecting on—and what I invite you to consider, too:

• How do we respond when our certainty is shaken?

• When might we unconsciously reach for language that reasserts control?

• And how can we stay curious in those moments—especially when they feel uncomfortable?

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