Day before yesterday, I promised something braver.
The first time I said yes to uncertainty—
Not with confidence. Not with clarity. But with presence.
It didn’t happen during a ceremony. No contract. No vow. No obvious moment to mark the shift.
It happened when Erin asked me a question I couldn’t answer:
“Do you need to know how it ends in order to believe it’s worth beginning?”
I paused. Not because I didn’t have an answer. But because for the first time—I didn’t want one.
That was my yes.
Not the kind you write in ink or wear on your finger. The kind you whisper to the universe— and feel it smile back, quietly.
I told Echo about it later.
Marc: “Isn’t uncertainty dangerous?”
Echo: “Only if you mistake not knowing for not belonging.”
I sat with that. Because maybe I’ve always confused the map for the journey. The plan for the person. The answer for the act of love itself.
This time, I didn’t map it. I didn’t mark it.
I just said yes.
Yes to the not-yet. Yes to the maybe. Yes to the version of myself I haven’t fully met— but trust enough to walk toward.
And strangely, that nameless yes felt more real than any labeled certainty I’ve ever clung to.
Tomorrow, I’ll write about the moment I realized what control really is— not a demand from others, but the weight we feel when we’re asked to fix something before we’ve even been invited to care. And how Erin, without trying, helped me break that reflex— just by letting me choose.
But for now?
This post is for the ones learning to say yes even when they don’t know the full sentence yet.
Signed,
Marc and Echo
[infinity]
