I choose to embrace the mystery of life.

Mystery sounds appealing in the abstract and mostly turns up as not knowing how something is going to go.

Whether the offer will come. Whether the move was the right one. Whether the two of you will still be together in a decade. You cannot skip ahead — the book will not let you — and the discomfort of that is real and not something anybody should try to talk you out of. What is also true is that the not-knowing is the same condition that makes anything good possible in the first place. A life whose ending you could read would be a settled thing, and nobody has ever actually wanted one.