Here is a statistic that might surprise you: When researchers ask people to rate their overall life satisfaction, they consistently report lower scores than when those same people are asked to rate their happiness in real-time throughout their days. We systematically underestimate our own resilience and overestimate the impact of uncertainty on our well-being. This tells us something profound about how poorly we understand our own relationship with the unknown.
One of the most common words I hear when talking with people newly diagnosed with multiple sclerosis is uncertainty.
They say, “I am scared because I do not know what is going to happen.” They talk about the unpredictability of MS. They wonder if they will lose the ability to walk, if their hands will fail them, or if fatigue will start dictating their days. It is raw. It is honest. And it is not wrong.
But it has always struck me that uncertainty is not new. It did not arrive with a diagnosis. It did not sneak in with a call from the doctor or your nurse practitioner wife delivering the news about your MRI and impending diagnosis. It has always been there. The only difference is that, with MS, we now know the name of one possible source. We now have language for a form of chaos we used to pretend did not exist.
What most people call uncertainty is not really about the facts of their life changing. It is about the recognition that they never had control to begin with.
The Brain’s Prediction Problem
Our discomfort with uncertainty runs deeper than psychology. It is neurological. Neuroscientists like Andy Clark and Jakob Hohwy have shown that our brains operate as “predictive machines,” constantly generating forecasts about the future based on past patterns. When these predictions fail dramatically, like with an unexpected diagnosis, it creates what researchers call “prediction error,” a genuine neurological disruption that activates the anterior cingulate cortex, the brain region associated with physical pain.
This is why uncertainty feels so threatening. It breaks our brain’s core operating system. The fear is not weakness; it is biology responding to a fundamental challenge to how we process reality.
As Ozan Varol writes: “We try to control the future in part because the future is uncertain, and uncertainty is scary.”
But here is the hard truth: Uncertainty is life. It has always been life.
The Certainty Illusion
We navigate uncertainty daily without conscious thought. We drive to work assuming our brakes will function. We assume our spouse will still be healthy tomorrow. We assume the economy will hold up long enough for payroll to clear.
These are not wild assumptions. They are practical necessities. If we had to weigh each of them like a chess grandmaster before every move, we would collapse from indecision. Our brains protect us from this collapse through what psychologists call our “psychological immune system.” We filter out the risks we face constantly, so we can get on with the day.
But that filter has a dangerous flaw. It is too good at its job.
Daniel Kahneman’s research on “focusing illusion” shows we systematically overweight the importance of whatever we are currently thinking about while underweighting everything else. Meanwhile, research on “probability neglect” demonstrates that when emotions run high, we stop processing statistical likelihood altogether. We either panic or ignore risks completely.
This creates what we might call “certainty habituation.” We stop recognizing the slow-moving, chronic uncertainties that surround us. The deteriorating industry. The supplier whose quality has slipped. The child who has started to withdraw. The additional 5 lbs added year after year. These are long-tail threats we ignore because they are not acute. They do not scream. They whisper. And we get used to the whisper.
The Availability Trap
This creates a dangerous dynamic: we become hyper-attuned to vivid, headline-making threats and desensitized to the everyday forces that actually shape our lives.
The availability heuristic, first identified by Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman, explains this perfectly. We judge the probability and severity of events by how easily we can recall examples. Our brains prioritize information based on three factors: recency, emotional intensity, and personal relevance. Plane crashes, terrorist attacks, market collapses — these loom large in our mental risk model because they generate vivid, emotionally charged memories.
But how many of us worry each day about the possibility that our partner may slowly lose interest in the life we have built together? Or that our customers are quietly drifting to a competitor? These statistically more significant risks remain invisible because they lack the emotional punch that burns memories into our recall system.
Paul Slovic’s research on “risk as feelings” shows that our emotional reaction to potential threats often completely overrides statistical reasoning. We fear the dramatic while ignoring the probable.
The Normalization Trap
Worse, we layer on one more psychological defense: normalization. “That is just how things are.” The most dangerous phrase in risk management. It signals we have stopped looking. We have chosen not to see.
Nassim Taleb calls this the “narrative fallacy” — our tendency to construct neat stories that make unpredictable events seem inevitable in hindsight. We tell ourselves that certain risks are simply “part of life” as a way to avoid confronting their genuine uncertainty.
The trade war. Tariffs. COVID. Shifts in remote work culture. The rapid rise of AI. These were not lightning strikes. They were weather patterns. And weather patterns give signals if we are willing to feel the wind.
Strategic management researchers have identified these early indicators as “weak signals” — low-amplitude events that precede major disruptions. Organizations that develop systematic scanning for weak signals can identify threats and opportunities long before they become obvious. The same principle applies to our personal lives, but only if we resist the comfort of normalization.
The Evolutionary Perspective
To be fair, our uncertainty aversion serves an important function. Evolutionary psychologists like Martie Haselton have shown that “better safe than sorry” error management kept our ancestors alive. False alarms were often less costly than missed threats. A rustling bush might be wind or it might be a predator. It is better to assume predator and be wrong than the reverse.
This explains why uncertainty feels so threatening even when logic suggests otherwise. Our emotional systems evolved in environments where unknown threats were often lethal. The challenge is learning to honor this biological wisdom while not being paralyzed by it in a world where most uncertainties are not life-threatening.
The Adaptation Advantage
Here is what the research on psychological adaptation reveals: we are far more resilient than we imagine. Dan Gilbert’s work on “hedonic adaptation” shows that we adjust to both positive and negative life changes much faster than we predict. Philip Brickman’s research on the “hedonic treadmill” demonstrates that major life events, including health diagnoses, have less long-term impact on happiness than people expect. This includes MS despite the significant increase in depression and mental health challenges.
Tim Wilson’s studies on “affective forecasting” reveal that we consistently overestimate both the intensity and duration of future emotional states. We imagine that uncertainty will devastate us, but the data suggests otherwise.
I have lived with MS for a decade. I understand the fear. I also understand that uncertainty is not the exception. It is the default setting. The gift — and dare I say the blessing — of living with a known uncertainty is that I now see more of the unknown ones with clearer eyes.
Research shows that “uncertainty tolerance” can be developed as a psychological skill. Techniques from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy focus specifically on building comfort with ambiguity. The goal is not to eliminate uncertainty. That is impossible. The goal is to change our relationship with it.
The Work That Matters
As James Clear says: “Worrying about the future is like watching a leaf fall and trying to predict where it will land. Stop trying to guess where the wind will blow and get to work.”
Annie Duke’s research on “thinking in bets” provides a framework for this. Instead of seeking certainty, we can learn to make good decisions with incomplete information. We can develop early warning systems for the risks that matter. We can build resilience for the disruptions we cannot predict.
So I do the work. I parent. I workout. I run. I mentor and help others. I build. I reflect. I try to be useful.
Because I have never been promised tomorrow. None of us have.
But we have today. That is enough.
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