I took the photo in this post at Crater Lake in the US. It was early June, yet the rim drive was obscured by whiteout blizzard conditions. Normally, this view should have been a grand expanse stretching from east to west but on this day I couldn’t see more than 30 feet out. In the moment, I was pretty upset. After all, I had been on a tour of the PNW for a week with my father, and we had seen lots of cool things. To have the view of Crater Lake ruined on our pass through the area was depressing. In retrospect, though, it offered me pictures that I’ll probably never be able to get again. I’ve come to love some of these shots, with the barest hint of what’s behind the cloud cover.

Having our view limited, whether by a blizzard or by life’s imminent mortality, can be a tool or a fear. It’s terrifying to drive through whiteout conditions unless you slow way down and take it a quarter mile at a time. Walking through life wondering what will happen a year, two years, a decade from now can be the same. I catch myself sometimes thinking and worrying over what life might look like in the passing of time. When will these debts be paid off? When will we be able to buy a home? Will life ever be easy? Will the pain of grief end?

But I remind myself of one thing each time. No amount of worrying in this moment will change anything or make my life bend to the trajectory I want. Sometimes, there are plans to be made and boxes to check off, and other times (at 3AM on a tuesday) you can’t fix everything you see wrong in your life.

We take it one day, one hour, one moment at a time. Slowly and deliberately. Until one day, we will either reach the goal or find we’ve arrived at a different one.

And that’s just A-OK, partner.