The Forecast Is Change

Traveling around the country was part and parcel of my job description for a good portion of my career. I’m so grateful—and frankly amazed—to have experienced a little bit of nearly every state in this wide, wild country. Sometimes it was a quick turnaround: a week, a few nights, a school district tucked into a main city… or just as often, the middle of absolutely nowhere. I enjoyed both equally. Turns out, I was either born to be curious or just naturally more curious than afraid. The people I met were always interesting and wonderfully unique—southern sayings and slow pace, northern confidence and steel. Our world is busting at the seams with every possible combination of experience, temperament, and disposition. And yet, what tickled me to no end was how many townsfolk seemed to have a favorite saying. I used to think we were special in Denver where I grew up, but nope. We had one of those sayings too. “If you don’t like the weather, just wait ten minutes.”

I’ve now heard that same exact line in more zip codes than I can count—coast to coast, sea to shining sea. The timing may vary (two minutes in Juneau, fifteen in Austin or Portland, pick your coast), but the vibe is the same. People are convinced their weather is uniquely unpredictable. What I find most entertaining is the pride people seem to have in their weather’s mood swings, as if the clouds are performing just for them. And it’s not about climate change, by the way. This little nugget of humor has been around way before that topic blew in. Weather’s always been chaotic. Nothing new there. Look, humans are responsible for a lot of shit, but I’m pretty sure the weather isn’t one of them. My opinion. Grandiosity is rampant—especially in the media—and I think we overestimate our reach. The Earth’s evolution? She’s got it handled. We are not steering this spaceship, friends. The nature of nature is change. If you’re dissatisfied with the current condition, chances are 100% that it will be different shortly. It may not tickle your fancy, but I can guarantee it’ll change.

Change, like gravity and sun and death and taxes, is one of those constants you can count on. That’s why this whole ramble belongs in the Getting Your Bearings section of the book. You can bitch about it, resist it, pretend you’re immune to it—or you can work with it. Either way, it’s coming. Personally, I’ve started using the inevitability of change as a powerful ally. A kind of spiritual Swiss Army knife. In fact, it’s proven to be one of the most beneficial tools in my kit: the awareness that this too shall pass.

There’s an old story, often traced back to Persian Sufi poets, about a wealthy king who was deeply depressed and desperate for peace of mind. He searched high and low across his kingdom, asking wise men and mystics for a wisdom he could carry with him through both triumph and despair. Finally, one monk—or in some tellings, a court advisor—offered him a simple ring inscribed with four words: This too shall pass. That ring became the king’s most prized possession—not because it sparkled, but because it grounded him. The phrase gained wider fame through a 19th-century retelling by Edward FitzGerald, who echoed its message as both humbling and comforting. The most expensive, treasured, soul-saving reminder wasn’t a jewel or a castle—it was the truth that whatever you’re feeling, facing, or fumbling through... will pass. Good or bad, elated or ashamed, righteous or totally humiliated. Hang on, because another gust of life is blowing in soon enough.

When I’m swirling in emotional fog or feeling personally attacked by the cosmos, it helps to get that divine nudge—whether it’s a synchronicity, a God wink, or my internal guidance system blinking like a dashboard light—reminding me to pause. To breathe. To wait. If I burn my finger, it’ll heal. If I stub my toe, breathe, it’ll be fine. If someone offends me or I say something awful and stew in shame, this too shall pass. It’s the ultimate one-two punch—a combo so common it’s become cliché, but when delivered with just a touch of precision and regular practice, it’s still surprisingly effective. The jab? A pause. The cross? That quiet whisper (or growl, or mutter): “This too shall pass.” Doesn’t matter if you’re a rookie in the ring or a seasoned soul boxer—practice is the difference between flailing and flow. The power to shift your entire emotional weather pattern is right there, tucked in your back pocket... or blinking helpfully on your DMGS dashboard.
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If you’re new to this, “this too shall pass” can be a solid cry for help—take it. That’s what it’s there for. Desperate or not, the phrase still works. But with time, with repetition, with some solid reps under your spiritual belt, it can transform into something else entirely: a friendly reminder. A wink. A breadcrumb on the trail. I like to imagine those words etched onto a small compass I carry inside. It doesn’t shout or demand. It just gently points me toward the next right moment. The next breath. The next shift. So while everyday people in everyday American towns are saying it about the weather—from Anchorage to Amarillo—here’s what I say now, inside and out: Just wait a minute, sweetheart. The weather (inside your soul and outside your window) is about to change. 

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