I believe 2025 was a year of anxiety for many of us. Not the dramatic, panic-driven kind, but that quiet, constant tension humming in the background as we try to live our daily lives. In a rapidly changing world, it’s getting harder to predict what tomorrow will bring. Both domestic and international politics feel uncertain, the news swings between hopeless and frightening, mostly just confusing. And this doesn’t stay abstract—it quietly seeps into our personal lives.
My life is full of questions too. I don’t know how long my jobs will last. I don’t know if the money I earn will be enough. I don’t know what our housing situation will look like in the long run, or even what a “secure future” means today. These are questions I once thought would have clear answers someday. But now, they just hover, reminding me from time to time: nothing is truly set in stone.
Of course, this uncertainty brings anxiety. Sometimes fear. There are days when it’s easy to slip into the thought spiral of what if the jobs don’t come, the savings run out, everything falls apart at once. Still, while so many questions remain unanswered, I try to learn something from this situation. Not because I’m a relentless optimist or a zen master, but because living in constant fear of the future is simply unsustainable in the long run, especially for women.
But this doesn’t work in every situation
I don’t believe you can or should always "take lessons" from every kind of insecurity.
If someone doesn’t know how they’ll buy a winter coat for their child or put food on the table, it’s not about living in the present—it’s about survival.
But at the level where we are—where our daily lives are still safe, where immediate deprivation isn’t a threat—the unpredictability of the future can truly help us appreciate the present more.
I realized something: I don’t have answers to the questions about the future. Not because I don’t think enough or plan poorly. But because so many factors shape those questions that are beyond my control. Economic shifts, political decisions, global events, other people’s choices. They’re all out there, and no amount of restless nights changes that.
The present, however—at least partly—is within my control. It’s up to me whether I let anxiety about the future take over or stay grounded in the moment. Whether I notice how good a quiet morning feels, a shared dinner, the relief after finishing a task.
Do I let these small, fragile moments of the present count, or do I already mourn them for a future that might never come?
Maybe one day I’ll long for these days. Maybe I’ll wish I could go back to when “only” these were my worries. That’s why I try to stay here now. Not to deny uncertainty or suppress fear, but to fully experience what’s here now. Because I can’t control the future—but I can control the present. And in this uncertain world, that might just be the most important anchor.
