A few days ago, our Practice Director sent a reminder to the team. As part of our company's transition following an acquisition, several internal systems are temporarily unavailable. There is nothing particularly dramatic about it - it is very common in the corporate world. A few tools are offline, some processes are paused, and we're simply waiting until next week for everything to come back online.
Yet one phrase stuck with me.
For a few days, we are operating on the dark side of the moon.
Not literally, of course. But the more I think about it, the more I realise how often this idea appears in everyday life.
Whenever astronauts pass behind the far side of the Moon, they temporarily lose contact with Earth. Mission Control knows the plan, the calculations have been checked countless times, the spacecraft has been tested, and the crew has trained for years. Yet there is still a period where communication disappears and all anyone can do is trust the preparation and wait.
Life feels remarkably similar.
We spend weeks preparing for an interview, polishing answers to questions that may never be asked. We rehearse presentations, revise for exams, train for races, and sometimes spend months deciding whether to say something important to someone we care about. We plan, prepare, analyse, and endlessly tinker.
Preparation offers the comforting illusion that uncertainty can be negotiated with.
Then the moment arrives. The interview begins. The race starts. The conversation happens. The presentation goes live. Preparation surrenders to reality, and for a brief period we find ourselves on our own dark side of the moon - a place where the outcome retreats beyond view and the only thing left to do is trust ourselves and keep moving forward.
Running has taught me this lesson more than once. Before a race, there are training plans, interval sessions, long runs, recovery runs, and perhaps a little too much attention paid to weather forecasts. You obsess over pace targets and race strategy, convinced that one final adjustment will somehow guarantee success. Then the horn sounds and all of that preparation becomes history. There is only the race itself.
Work follows the same pattern. Many of the projects I have worked on over the years involve months of research, coding, analysis, quality assurance, presentations, and revisions. Eventually, however, all of that effort leads to a workshop, a client meeting, or a live demonstration. There comes a moment when you press "Share Screen", and that's it. The outcome is no longer entirely within your control.
I think we often focus too much on preparation and not enough on what comes after. Preparation feels wonderfully deceptive. It feels productive because it gives us certainty. We can always read one more paper, revise one more slide, run one more kilometre, or think through one more scenario.
But every worthwhile endeavour eventually reaches a point where preparation ends and experience begins. A point where uncertainty replaces planning. A point where you have no choice but to trust yourself.
And the dark side of the moon does not come with a fixed duration.
Sometimes it lasts a few seconds - the moment between asking a question and hearing the answer.
Sometimes it lasts an hour - an interview, a presentation, a race.
Sometimes it lasts months or even years - building a business, changing careers, moving to a new country, healing after loss, or waiting for a relationship to become what you hope it can be.
The length is different, but the experience is remarkably similar. We continue forward without knowing exactly what lies ahead, trusting that clarity will eventually drift back into view.
But perhaps we have been calling it the wrong thing all along.
The far side of the Moon is not a place of permanent darkness. The Sun shines there just as it does everywhere else. We simply cannot see it from where we stand.
Maybe the same is true for many moments in life.
The interview is not dark because something bad is waiting on the other side. The outcome is simply hidden from view. The conversation with someone we care about is not dark because it is frightening. It is dark because it has not happened yet. The race, the presentation, the career move, the leap of faith - none of them are truly dark. They are merely moments where the future lingers just beyond the horizon.
We spend so much time trying to illuminate every possible outcome before we begin. Yet some parts of life can only be understood by moving through them.
Perhaps the goal is not to avoid the dark side of the moon.
Perhaps the goal is to trust that there is light there too.
Because more often than not, what appears to be uncertainty is simply possibility viewed from a distance.
And maybe that is what living in the moment really means: not knowing exactly what lies ahead, not having complete control, and not seeing the whole path - but stepping forward anyway.
Trusting the preparation.
Trusting yourself.
And trusting that what appears to be uncertainty today may simply be possibility viewed from a distance.
Yet one phrase stuck with me.
For a few days, we are operating on the dark side of the moon.
Not literally, of course. But the more I think about it, the more I realise how often this idea appears in everyday life.
Whenever astronauts pass behind the far side of the Moon, they temporarily lose contact with Earth. Mission Control knows the plan, the calculations have been checked countless times, the spacecraft has been tested, and the crew has trained for years. Yet there is still a period where communication disappears and all anyone can do is trust the preparation and wait.
Life feels remarkably similar.
We spend weeks preparing for an interview, polishing answers to questions that may never be asked. We rehearse presentations, revise for exams, train for races, and sometimes spend months deciding whether to say something important to someone we care about. We plan, prepare, analyse, and endlessly tinker.
Preparation offers the comforting illusion that uncertainty can be negotiated with.
Then the moment arrives. The interview begins. The race starts. The conversation happens. The presentation goes live. Preparation surrenders to reality, and for a brief period we find ourselves on our own dark side of the moon - a place where the outcome retreats beyond view and the only thing left to do is trust ourselves and keep moving forward.
Running has taught me this lesson more than once. Before a race, there are training plans, interval sessions, long runs, recovery runs, and perhaps a little too much attention paid to weather forecasts. You obsess over pace targets and race strategy, convinced that one final adjustment will somehow guarantee success. Then the horn sounds and all of that preparation becomes history. There is only the race itself.
Work follows the same pattern. Many of the projects I have worked on over the years involve months of research, coding, analysis, quality assurance, presentations, and revisions. Eventually, however, all of that effort leads to a workshop, a client meeting, or a live demonstration. There comes a moment when you press "Share Screen", and that's it. The outcome is no longer entirely within your control.
I think we often focus too much on preparation and not enough on what comes after. Preparation feels wonderfully deceptive. It feels productive because it gives us certainty. We can always read one more paper, revise one more slide, run one more kilometre, or think through one more scenario.
But every worthwhile endeavour eventually reaches a point where preparation ends and experience begins. A point where uncertainty replaces planning. A point where you have no choice but to trust yourself.
And the dark side of the moon does not come with a fixed duration.
Sometimes it lasts a few seconds - the moment between asking a question and hearing the answer.
Sometimes it lasts an hour - an interview, a presentation, a race.
Sometimes it lasts months or even years - building a business, changing careers, moving to a new country, healing after loss, or waiting for a relationship to become what you hope it can be.
The length is different, but the experience is remarkably similar. We continue forward without knowing exactly what lies ahead, trusting that clarity will eventually drift back into view.
But perhaps we have been calling it the wrong thing all along.
The far side of the Moon is not a place of permanent darkness. The Sun shines there just as it does everywhere else. We simply cannot see it from where we stand.
Maybe the same is true for many moments in life.
The interview is not dark because something bad is waiting on the other side. The outcome is simply hidden from view. The conversation with someone we care about is not dark because it is frightening. It is dark because it has not happened yet. The race, the presentation, the career move, the leap of faith - none of them are truly dark. They are merely moments where the future lingers just beyond the horizon.
We spend so much time trying to illuminate every possible outcome before we begin. Yet some parts of life can only be understood by moving through them.
Perhaps the goal is not to avoid the dark side of the moon.
Perhaps the goal is to trust that there is light there too.
Because more often than not, what appears to be uncertainty is simply possibility viewed from a distance.
And maybe that is what living in the moment really means: not knowing exactly what lies ahead, not having complete control, and not seeing the whole path - but stepping forward anyway.
Trusting the preparation.
Trusting yourself.
And trusting that what appears to be uncertainty today may simply be possibility viewed from a distance.