The Knowns and the Unknowns: Learning to Live in the In-Between
We live much of our lives navigating two worlds—the knowns and the unknowns. The places where we feel certain, steady, and safe… and the places where we feel suspended in mystery, waiting, or even fear. Both are part of the human experience. But most of us are more comfortable in the known.
We cling to what we understand: routines, roles, identities, relationships, beliefs. We look for meaning in what’s familiar. There’s comfort in the predictability of the known—it gives us something to hold onto.
But healing? Growth? Transformation?
They often live in the unknown.
The known is our anchor. The known can be beautiful. It’s the ground beneath our feet. It’s what we’ve learned through experience, through trial and error, through intuition. It’s the wisdom we gather as we move through seasons of life. It’s what we come back to when we need to feel held.
Some examples of our "knowns":
Our breath.
The people we trust.
The rituals that nourish us.
The truth in our bodies.
The lessons we’ve already integrated.
The known grounds us, and in many ways, it prepares us to face the unknown with a little more courage.
The unknown, on the other hand, is our expansion and asks us to soften into mystery. It is the space where we are asked to surrender, trust, and sometimes unravel.
The unknown might look like:
A decision we haven’t made yet.
A life transition.
A healing path we don’t fully understand.
A future that feels unclear.
A change we feel coming, but can’t quite name.
The unknown can feel like a void. But it’s also where creativity lives. Where possibilities form. Where we are invited to meet parts of ourselves we haven’t yet discovered.
Much of life, and healing, happens in the space between the known and the unknown. This is the liminal space—where we are no longer who we were, but not yet who we are becoming. It can feel uncomfortable. Disorienting. Even lonely.
But this in-between is also incredibly sacred. It’s where we get to choose. To be present. To listen inwardly. To plant seeds in the dark before they sprout.
We don’t need to force clarity, answers, or control.
Instead, we can:
Anchor into what we do know: our values, our breath, our care for ourselves and others.
Get curious instead of judgmental: “What might this be teaching me?”
Soften our grip on needing a timeline or outcome.
Turn to ritual, nature, movement, and creativity as support.
Ask for help from within or from trusted support—guides, friends, and practitioners.
You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You don’t have to rush your way out of the unknown.
You are not broken for feeling unsure.
There is something beautiful being woven here—perhaps just beneath the surface of your awareness. Trust that it will reveal itself in time.
For now, come back to what’s true:
You are not lost.
You are growing.
You are being asked to be with yourself more deeply than ever before.
And that’s a sacred thing.
Try sitting with these prompts:
What do I know for sure right now?
What feels unknown or uncertain?
What do I need to support myself in the in-between?
Let this become a check-in you return to anytime the unknown feels too loud.
The knowns and unknowns are both teachers.
One shows us where we’ve been.
The other gently pulls us into who we are becoming.
Let yourself walk that bridge.
Hold what you can, and let the rest unfold.
