What If the Fog Is Trying to Help You?
- Wayne Mylin
- May 28
- 3 min read
There’s a trail I often walk that winds through a patch of woods. On clear days, I can see the horizon between the trees — light streaming through branches, the path stretching forward like a quiet invitation.
But on foggy days, it’s different.
The forest blurs. Edges disappear. The sound of birds feels distant, muffled by the gray. The trail still exists — I know that — but I can’t see more than a few feet ahead. I have to slow down, listen differently, and feel my way forward.
That happened on my walk this morning. I stopped at an overlook that usually has a good view and saw nothing but fog. My inner voice spoke up, saying, "This looks like how you feel inside right now." That inner voice was correct. I'm in the middle of a life transition, and things are a bit foggy.
But I knew this morning's fog was temporary. I also know that I enjoy my foggy walks - there's a strange comfort in them. So, why wasn't I feeling that same comfort with my personal fog? Why am I anxious that the fog is here to stay?
I began to wonder:
What if the fog is just temporary?
What if it’s simply part of my path right now?
What if this fog in my life is no different than the fog on this morning's walk?
What would change for me?
When Life Gets Foggy
Fog shows up in more places than forests.
It rolls in during grief, burnout, transition, illness, heartbreak, or moments when everything familiar stops making sense.
We can’t see where we’re going.
We second-guess our steps.
The map we were following no longer fits the terrain.
Our culture doesn’t like fog. We’re told to "push through," to "wait it out," or to pretend it’s not there — to keep acting like we know exactly where we’re headed.
But what if the fog itself is a teacher?
Fog Slows You Down (and That’s a Good Thing)
Fog insists we move more slowly.
We can’t barrel forward the way we usually do. We’re asked to pause, to notice what’s right here, not what's way out there.
In fog, we become present by necessity.
We attune to small signals: a crunch underfoot, a branch creaking above, the whisper of something inside us that knows which way to turn next.
We don’t always like this slowness, but it might be the medicine we need.
Fog Refines the Inner Compass
When you can’t rely on clear vision, you have to rely on something else.
In my coaching work, I call this your Inner Compass — the quiet voice inside that senses what’s true, what’s aligned, what’s next (even when the next step feels terrifyingly small ... or simply terrifying).
Fog strengthens your relationship with that compass.
When the map you've been using is no longer useful, you stop outsourcing your direction.
You start learning to trust your wayfinding instincts.
And that changes you forever.
What the Fog Might Be Saying
If the fog could speak, I imagine it would say:
“Slow down. The answers aren’t up ahead — they’re inside you.”
“You don’t need to see the whole path. Just take the next true step.”
“Let this softness hold you while something inside reorganizes.”
“You're not lost. You're in the middle of becoming.”
When the Fog Lifts
Eventually, the fog does lift.
The trees reappear. The path stretches forward again.
But you are not the same.
You’ve nurtured something in that unclear space — a deeper trust, a steadier pace, a relationship with your own soul that’s harder to shake. You've also strengthened your courage.
And that’s the gift.
The fog didn’t just delay your progress. It deepened your presence.
It asked you to become the kind of person who doesn’t panic when the horizon disappears.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’re in the fog right now, you’re not alone.
You’re not failing. You’re not broken. You’re being asked to walk differently - maybe more slowly or carefully.
So here’s your invitation to reflect:
What fog are you walking through right now?
What is it inviting you to slow down and notice?
What inner sense are you being asked to trust more deeply?
And if you want support, reach out.
The wilderness may feel disorienting, but you don’t have to navigate it alone.
At My Best Life Basecamp, we walk with people just like you and me — finding footing, building skills, and learning to trust the trail even when it seems to disappear.
The fog may not be here to scare or inconvenience you.
It may be here to bring you back to yourself.
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