On being certain

Certainty is illusive.
Counterproductive even.
The progress I sacrifice
In pursuit of it
Is rarely ever worth the trade.
I have found that
A self-determined life
That is only as big as my imagination
Is deeply dissatsfying.
I am not God.
So rather than demand
I would do well to
Not give in to my anxious thoughts
Clawing for control and whining for
Because this life will always be more
Firmly grasped
And more deeply understood
In retrospect.

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