This piece sits within an ongoing Threads inquiry into being: how we anchor ourselves when life moves faster than we’d like.

I’ve been thinking about this question as part of a broader inquiry into what it means to practise being, especially at work? The Manifesto for Being wasn’t an abstraction. It was an attempt to name the small, everyday choices that keep us anchored. This question is one of those choices that isn’t dramatic, impressive or big. It just grounds us.

The first week back at work has been full on. We’ve been busy. Everyone has returned. And for some reason, it’s felt busier than ever. I think I say that every year. But this year has felt different.

On the one hand, I’ve been intentional. I’ve set myself up to deliver clarity to myself and to the team. I’ve been thoughtful about how I want to show up and aimed to act in a way that is consistent, clear and caring.

And yet, I’m noticing the gap. The gap between intention and impact, between how I want to behave and how I sometimes do, between what I offer and what others want or need in that moment.

I’m also noticing how easily the actions of others can heighten my own stress levels. It doesn’t take much. It can be as little as tone, delay, even a decision that doesn’t land as expected. I’m learning, slowly, to disconnect from taking things personally. I’m practising keeping a distance between my emotions and my actions. These are things I’ve learned before, and things I’m learning again, and again. And still, anxiety surfaces. Often when I need it the least.

When it does, I return to a question I recently learned from the SEALs. It’s a question designed for moments of pressure, uncertainty, and heightened stakes. I’ve found it just as useful in meetings, kitchens, and quiet moments at 3am.

The question is simple: What do I know for certain now?

Not what I fear. Not what I imagine. Not what could happen next. Just what is true, right now.

Anxiety thrives on projection (and rumination). It pulls us out of the present and sends us racing ahead, stitching together worst-case scenarios with very little evidence. At work, it sounds like: What if this goes wrong? What if they think I’m not good enough? What if I’ve missed something obvious? In life, it sounds like: What if I can’t cope? What if this doesn’t get better? What if I’m already behind?

The spiral isn’t caused by what’s happening. It’s caused by everything we add to it.

I see this clearly at work. A calendar invite arrives with no agenda and my mind fills in the blanks. A comment lands awkwardly in a meeting and I replay it for hours. A decision is delayed and I assume it means something about me.

None of this is fact. It’s story. When I pause and ask, What do I know for certain now?, something shifts. The brain gets quieter. I know I’ve been invited to a meeting. I know I don’t yet know the agenda. I know no one has told me I’ve done anything wrong. That’s it. That’s the truth. Everything else is interpretation.

I’ve used this question outside of work too. Waiting for a medical result. Watching someone I love struggle. Standing at the edge of a change I didn’t choose. Anxiety wants me to leap ahead, to solve tomorrow before it arrives. But certainty lives only in the present. I know I am here. I know I am breathing. I know I have handled hard things before.

That doesn’t erase fear. But it contains it.

The SEALs use this question because under pressure, clarity matters more than speed. When everything feels urgent, the discipline is to come back to what’s knowable. The mind wants certainty about outcomes. The body needs certainty about now.

This is why the question works. It interrupts the spiral. It replaces imagined futures with grounded reality. It moves us from reaction to response. I’m coming to see that anxiety isn’t a failure of courage. It’s often a lack of anchoring. We drift from what we know into what we fear. This question brings us back. It doesn’t promise that things will be easy. It promises that we will be present.

And being, it turns out, is often enough.

This week

Reach in: When anxiety shows up, pause and ask yourself: What do I know for certain right now? Try and only write down the facts.

Reset: When your mind jumps ahead, gently bring it back to the present. Breathe. Name what’s true.

Reach out: Share this question with someone you trust. Calm is easier to find when it’s shared.