We’re All Standing on Bridges Made of Pool Noodles

It was a Tuesday, and I was standing in line at the grocery store—milk, eggs, and a loaf of bread in my basket. A perfectly ordinary moment. The kind of scene that passes by without leaving much of a mark. But that day, as I waited, I tuned into the middle-aged, vaguely stressed-out pair ahead of me, locked in what seemed like a cosmic clash between certainty and reality. You know, one of those arguments that doesn’t even require words to sound like it’s about Something Really Important, even though it’s probably not. No, what hits me is this: both of them, utterly certain they’re right, as if the mere force of their conviction can bend reality to their will, which is, let’s face it, something we all believe in our weaker moments—like, if we say it with enough confidence, then surely it’s true, right?

This is, of course, where it dawns on me—this deep and slightly uncomfortable realization that most of us, and I’m including myself here, walk around all day with this little cognitive puppet show in our heads where the strings are held by “certainty.” And I start laughing—not out loud because, really, who wants to be the guy cackling in the cereal aisle at a Raley's on a Tuesday morning, earning at least one sideways glance from the lady eyeing the organic oats?—but it’s that kind of internal laugh, the one that’s both slightly painful and freeing, born from a realization you’d rather not face but can’t quite ignore. Why? Because how many times have I—have you—staked everything on the belief that our predictions about the future are as solid as a steel bridge, meticulously engineered, bolts tightened to the exact torque, while the reality we live in is more like a bridge made of pool noodles.

We speak as though we have the same mastery over the future as an engineer does over their bridge calculations. Yet reality is full of cracks and sways. It’s funny, but also strangely tragic: we’re all so confident in our pool-noodle predictions. We’ll tell our friends, family, maybe even strangers in line at the grocery store, about how this thing is absolutely going to happen, because we can just feel it in our bones. This is certainty, with a capital "C." But as it turns out, being sure of something doesn’t mean you’re right. In fact, the more certain we are, the less room we leave for the unpredictable—which is basically everything that matters. We’ve confused feeling sure with being right—which is like mistaking a menu for the actual meal. And we do this all the time. Constantly, really. And then we sit there, mystified, wondering why we’re still hungry.

How often have you clung to a belief simply because you were sure of it? That job promotion was going to happen, that relationship was on solid ground, that market move was inevitable—until none of it was. And yet, we act as if the opposite is rarely, if ever, the case. Why? Why do we confuse the power of certainty with the accuracy of reality?

Certainty is a trap. And I mean that in a real, day-to-day, tangible sense. We cling to certainty because the unknown is terrifying, right? But here’s the twist—what if the unknown isn’t the enemy? What if the only way to actually grow, to actually move forward, is to acknowledge that you’re not as in control as you think you are? That sometimes, no matter how carefully you plan or how confidently you explain, you’re still standing on a bridge made of pool noodles. And that’s OK.

Let’s bring some psychology into this because, let’s be honest, a little academic flair never hurts. There’s this thing called cognitive dissonance—and if you haven’t felt it, you’re probably either (a) in denial or (b) a sociopath—where your brain pretty much short-circuits because reality, with its constant insistence on being unpredictable, doesn’t line up with whatever neat little narrative you’ve been clinging to. It’s the mental equivalent of stuffing a beach ball into a suitcase meant for socks—the latches groaning under the weight of your delusion—until the whole thing, you know, bursts. You can feel it physically—this discomfort, like a tension behind your eyes, or a knot in your stomach, when the universe refuses to comply with your internal narrative. And what do we do with that? We don’t embrace it. No, we fight it. We rewrite the story, we tell ourselves that actually, things went wrong for some totally understandable, external reason that was beyond our control, and thus we preserve the illusion that we were right all along, or at least not wrong.

But what if, and hear me out on this, what if cognitive dissonance is actually a gift? What if it’s life’s way of nudging us—gently, or sometimes with a sharp elbow to the ribs—toward accepting that the world is messy and unpredictable, and maybe that’s where the real growth happens? What if embracing uncertainty is the key to being OK with the fact that you don’t know what’s coming next? (I know—easier said than done—but really, think about it: how many times have you been wrong about what’s next, and yet, here you are?)

Now why do I say this? It's because of something I've come to learn from my own experiences and have seen through countless others: you can handle whatever happens. At first glance, it feels like a platitude, but think about it. Life doesn’t ask for your permission before changing its course. It just does. And here you are, reading this, having faced whatever you’ve faced so far.

No, seriously. Think about it. Look at your own life for a minute—this isn’t rhetorical, I want you to actually think about it. Think of all the times things didn’t go according to plan, and then, weirdly enough, you made it through. You handled it. You didn’t know how, at the time, but somehow, you did. Which means, logically, you can handle whatever comes next, even if the next thing is a total disaster. Or, you know, mildly inconvenient, which is more likely but less dramatic. Bad luck, wrong turns, unexpected outcomes—each of them a teacher, often a harsh one. But maybe, just maybe, that bad luck saved you from worse luck.

That’s a humbling thought, isn’t it? What if the promotion you didn’t get protected you from burnout? What if the relationship that fell apart spared you years of unfulfilled potential? What if that layoff puts you in position to get the job of your dreams? The fact is, we rarely see the full picture, and sometimes, our worst moments are the seeds for growth we didn’t know we needed. Certainty is not your guide; adaptability is.

Begin by letting go of the belief that you need to predict or control outcomes. Instead, focus on your response to what happens. Ask yourself: "What can I learn from this moment?" or "How can I grow through this challenge?" It shifts the focus from the external (which you can't control) to the internal (which you can).

This brings me to a weird, counterintuitive truth, which, again, is kind of the point of all this: sometimes the thing that seems like it’s draining your energy—say, getting up off the couch to go for a walk or to stretch or do literally anything other than scrolling endlessly through social media—is the thing that actually gives you energy. You want to feel better? Move. Seriously. It doesn’t have to be complicated. You don’t need a gym membership or some elaborate fitness tracker. Get up. Walk outside. Stand up. Stretch. Just move. The energy you think you don’t have is actually locked behind the door of inaction, and all you need to do is turn the knob.

And yeah, I know, that sounds too simple to be true, but it’s not. I promise. Movement begets energy. It’s one of those paradoxical truths that make no sense until you experience it firsthand, and then suddenly it’s so obvious you wonder why no one told you sooner. Except they probably did, and you just weren’t listening because it sounded like more self-help mumbo-jumbo, which, to be fair... it is. You don’t need to overhaul your entire life in one go. You just need to move, to start—whether it’s spending five minutes on a new habit, or asking yourself, “What can I do right now, even if it’s small?”

And while we’re on the topic of things that seem too simple but are actually life-changing, let’s talk about your environment—specifically, your mental environment. There’s this entrepreneur, Phil Levin, who said "You will spend 10000x more time in the 5 blocks surrounding your house than the cool neighborhood a 10-minute drive away."

Whether you live in a buzzing metropolis or a sleepy suburb, the five-block radius around your home is where you do the bulk of your living. It’s where your habits form and your routines play out. You wake up, you step out into your neighborhood, you grab a coffee or walk the dog or maybe just head to the office. You might spend your weekends at the same grocery store or hit the same park when you need some fresh air. And even if you’re romanticizing the idea of living in some far-off, vibrant city—the truth is, most of your life is spent right in those five blocks. The cafes, the corner stores, the sidewalks you walk every day. That’s your real life, not some fantasy about what the rest of the city might offer if you actually bothered to explore it.

Phil Levin nails this with his idea that we spend so much more time in our immediate physical environment than anywhere else, and yet we often overlook just how much it shapes us. What’s around you every day is more than just background scenery—it’s influencing your mood, your habits, your thoughts, and even your sense of possibility. If your neighborhood feels run-down, chaotic, or uninspiring, chances are your mind will start reflecting that energy too, without you even realizing it. It’s not that you’ll wake up one day and say, “Hey, this ugly block is killing my creativity,” but over time, the subtle wear and tear of living in a place that doesn’t feed you can drain your spark.

Now, take that idea and shift it to your mental environment—the space you inhabit in your head all day long. The thoughts, the people you engage with, the media you consume, the conversations you have with yourself and others. This, too, is a neighborhood. It’s the mental equivalent of your five-block radius. And you know what? You spend even more time here than in your physical neighborhood.

If you’re feeding your brain junk—be it endless scrolling through social media, toxic news cycles, or shallow conversations that never go anywhere—then your mental neighborhood is just as dilapidated as a rundown physical space. And just like a bad physical neighborhood can make you feel stuck, a bad mental neighborhood can make you feel mentally trapped, uninspired, and lost.

Let’s pause for a second—what’s the current state of your mental five-block radius? Are the people you talk to encouraging you to think critically, to grow, to challenge yourself? Or are they keeping you in a loop of complaining, rehashing the same old stories, reinforcing the same tired patterns? What about the content you consume? Is it enriching, or is it just noise—like the visual clutter of advertisements on a grimy street corner?

See, both your physical and mental environments are shaping you constantly, even if you’re not conscious of it. Your mind works like a sponge—it’s soaking up everything around it, whether you like it or not. So, if you’re in a mental space that’s full of negativity, distraction, or stagnation, you’re absorbing that. Just like if you’re in a physical space that feels unwelcoming or dull, it slowly wears on you. It’s why people say, “You become what you surround yourself with,” and this is not just about friends or ideas. It’s about everything in your proximity—physically and mentally.

But here’s the good part: you can curate both. You can take charge of your mental and physical neighborhoods and make them places that actually nurture you. And it’s not as overwhelming as it sounds—it just takes a bit of intention. Let’s start with the physical.

You probably can’t pick up and move to your dream neighborhood tomorrow, but you can make small changes to the space around you. Find one little spot—a cozy corner, maybe—where you feel at peace, and spend more time there. Walk a different route in your neighborhood, one that takes you past the local park or brings you through a street that feels a little more open, a little more alive. Start paying attention to the details of your physical environment. How do you feel when you’re out in those five blocks? What can you do to make that experience just a little better?

For your mental neighborhood, it’s about being more deliberate with what you consume and who you let into your headspace. You wouldn’t just let anyone walk into your home uninvited and start trashing the place, right? So why do we let thoughts, conversations, and media clutter our minds with garbage we never even asked for in the first place? Take stock of the websites you visit, the books you read, the conversations you have, the people you engage with. Are they adding value to your life, or are they just background noise that distracts you from something else you value even more?

Every day you’re building your mental neighborhood brick by brick. The books you read and media you consume are like the architecture. The people you engage with are like your neighbors. The thoughts you entertain are the conversations happening on your mental street. You have the power to renovate this space, but you have to start paying attention. You have to start asking yourself, “What do I want my mental neighborhood to look like?” If you want a place that feels alive, creative, peaceful, or inspiring, you have to bring in the materials that build that kind of space.

I cannot even say enough about the people in your life. Surround yourself with people who challenge you in good ways, who push you to be better, who make you think deeper and laugh harder. These are the people who turn your mental neighborhood into a place worth living in, a place that nurtures your growth instead of stunting it.

So, here’s where I leave you, not with certainty (because that’s the thing we’re letting go of, remember?), but with something far better—adaptability. It’s the ability to look at the messy, mental and physical spaces around you and ask, “How can I make this place, this moment, just a little better?” Yeah, the unknown is uncomfortable—like wearing damp socks for hours uncomfortable—but it’s also the only place where real possibilities actually live. And let’s be honest: you’ve survived every single unknown so far. That’s not just a decent track record; that’s an undefeated streak. You’ve handled all of it—the curveballs, the catastrophes, the minor inconveniences that masqueraded as life-changing events. So, you can handle whatever’s next. Even if, sometimes, it feels like standing on a rickety bridge made of pool noodles—you’ve crossed every wobbly, shaky bridge up to this point, haven’t you?