M for Muddling Through

On living a devoted life from A to Z

Hi friends, I hope you've been well and content wherever you are. This month, I’d like to invite you to take a mindful pause and reflect on the paths you’ve walked, the plans you’ve tried to follow, and the moments when life didn’t go quite as expected — and what they taught you along the way. For me, August is a month of remembrance, a time to untangle and revisit memories from the past. I hope you might find something helpful or comforting here. Thanks for being here. - Bonnie

Photo by Keyur Nandaniya on Unsplash

Of all the zodiac signs, I resonate least with Leo.

The lion embodies the energy of the sun: strength, courage, passion, generosity, creativity, leadership. It aligns with the summer season in the northern hemisphere where I grew up – a time for play, expression, and spontaneity.

Yet I can’t remember much of my summer holidays, no matter how hard I try.

When I asked my mother, the first thing she said was: “Oh, you were doing your summer holiday homework most of the time.” (LOL.)

When our family moved to Australia in the 90s, life continued to be simple, quiet, and orderly. School, work, and not much play – the norm for most migrant families. August was just another month of chopping wood and carrying water.

As the firstborn, I was handed a checklist on how to become a good adult:
Study hard. Get a professional qualification. Find a reputable job. Contribute to society. Earn respect. Collect accolades. Stay loyal to family. Be generous to all. Live a disciplined, stoic life.

From high school onward, I followed this list with laser focus, determined to tick every item off. Everything had to be planned, prepared, and checked at least three times. I was constantly scanning people and conditions to decide my next move. Nothing was left to chance.

Life was neat and steady – until I stepped into the hospital world, where everything was urgent, chaotic, and never under control.

Suddenly my “plan-prepare-triple check” method stopped working. My days never went to plan. My phone never stopped ringing – requests from doctors, questions from nurses, check-ins from supervisors. My handwriting grew messy. My notes misplaced and disorganised. My to-do list multiplied by the minute.

On top of daily clinical work, the list of professional development activities was also growing – keeping up with new medications, guidelines, and research, while supervising and teaching others.

Skipping breaks, staying late, and working weekends became the norm. No one ever questioned it; in fact, these habits were deemed the hallmark of a successful career.

But deep down, I felt like losing control. I thought I wasn’t working hard enough, or smart enough, or efficient enough. My only solution was to double down my effort: work harder, study more, organise better.

Over time I learned to prioritise and manage work with more flexibility. But I was never relaxed. My mind was always running ten steps ahead, pre-empting potential issues or obstacles.

Meanwhile, my body showed more and more warning signs that I dismissed as the by-products of a “normal” working life. I took medications to keep going, while I clung to the belief that I must stay in control with everything.

Photo by Jess Zoerb on Unsplash

Then came Covid-19. A virus we knew almost nothing about. No vaccine, no proven treatment, no clear guidance. Even the experts weren’t sure how it spread at first. In those early days, the hospital air was thick with uncertainty, worry, and fear.

We quickly realised we couldn’t carry on business as usual – not with so many human lives at stake. So, we stripped back to basics: What mattered most? What were our priorities? What could we do within our capacity?

The speed of change was relentless. Our plans in the morning could be obsolete by afternoon. What worked one day might be scrapped the next.

The depth of the unknowns forced us to work differently. We had to stay open and responsive, improvise within constraints, pivot creatively, and most importantly, anchor every decision in humanity.

For two years, I had no choice but to loosen my grip on control and make things up day by day.

It was messy, stressful, destabilising – but also life-changing.

Never had I imagined that muddling through the pandemic would free me from the prison of perfectionism, clarify what truly mattered, and ignite my courage to draw a new map of life.

Life has never promised us certainty. Nothing lines up perfectly, waiting for flawless execution. Surprises, accidents, rejections, and redirections are all part of the deal.

While control may create an illusion of security, it also clouds our perception. We stop seeing people and situations as they are. We get trapped in our minds, too busy rehearsing life instead of living it.

I once mistook discipline and control for devotion – and how wrong I was. Control had kept me away from the joy of play, curiosity, and creativity – the keys to a conscious, meaningful and fulfilled life.

The truth is, devotion doesn’t live in perfect plans, but in our willingness to muddle through life with honesty and heart, showing up with what we have, even when the path ahead is uncertain.

Photo by Izabelly Marques on Unsplash

As I reflect on this Leo season, I think of my late father – the first Leo I ever knew – two years since his death.

For a long time, I felt intimidated by him: that I mustn’t deviate from his rules, that I mustn’t disappoint him. I used to find him too stoic, hard to connect with, and always talking at me but rarely inviting my perspective.

But now I see him through a softer lens: everything he did came from love, though often disguised as order, control, and discipline.

Perhaps he was trying to become the father he had missed as a child. Perhaps he hoped I would achieve what he could not. Perhaps he wanted to spare me the hardships he endured by muddling through.

I no longer place him on a pedestal as an authority. What I see is a man with a tender heart who, like me, longed for love, belonging, connection, and purpose. He did his best with what he had. And I feel only love, admiration, and gratitude for him – because I would not be here, as I am, without him.

In the end, life is a story that unfolds in its own way – and never follows any rules or plans. We stumble, we improvise, and we gather threads of wisdom along the way. I used to think muddling through was a flaw, but now I see it as the very fabric of being alive. Because in truth, none of us have it all figured out.

We are all just muddling through – and maybe that’s what makes us human, connected, and alive.