Muddling is the way.

Fumbling and befuddled,
disheveled and frayed—
that's how it gets done.
You have your moments
of insight, but they flee
on close inspection, and
you're left feeling your
way in the dark and the
fog, crawling at times,
hands raw, knees purpled
from buckling under the
weight of not knowing—
or, rather, knowing the
only thing you'll ever
know for sure is you'll 

never know for sure.