The Quarrel with Doubt

Learning to live without solid ground

I raged against the fog that clouds all sight,
that every truth I held could shift like sand,
that certainty dissolves when held too tight,
and slips like water through my grasping hand.

I wanted bedrock, something fixed and sure,
a place to stand that would not crack or sway,
foundations that would permanently endure,
not ground that trembles, threatening to give way.

But now I see the gift in what I cursed:
that life stays open, never fully known,
means I am free, not fated from the first—
the path ahead is mine, and mine alone.

So let me walk where nothing’s guaranteed,
and find in doubt the room I always need.

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