When You Don’t Know

Photo credit: Cory Woodward

Indecision is a bitch.

That ‘I don’t know I don’t know IdontknowIdontknowIdontknow …’

But you do know.

Because you’re not actually that twisty voice thundering in your head.

Somewhere you do know. Somewhere, in a quiet place, somewhere, in the hush of that storm you feel so tousled in. Somewhere you know.

It might not be the great epiphany you’re waiting for. In fact, it’s almost certain that it won’t be. We’re all children of Hollywood in that way, expecting the dramatic, the bolt from the blue, that defining moment when it all comes together. Real life is far more subtle than that, far more tangled and complex and unknown.

But if you listen closely … there … a tiny flutter, a gentle tugging, the quietest of whispers. Come here, come here.

It’s the simplest of things at first. The quiet urge to slip off your shoes and step onto the grass. Or to take out a box of crayons and scrawl out on a giant page. Or to stop for a moment and breathe, just breathe.

Because maybe, before that next big thing you’re looking for, maybe something needs to heal first. Maybe something needs to be seen or touched or honoured or kissed or sung or even just … remembered.

So you open your eyes, you open all your senses, you yield, you trust, you find your perfect stillness in that gentle hush of the storm. You let your notions of what should be fall. You let what could be rise.

Slowly at first, you listen, you follow, you do.

And then … those tiny flutters of yearnings swell. The pieces of you spill into you, no longer scattered. You listen, you follow, you do more and more and more. And all those little steps become a journey and all those little flutters become a calling and all that old unknowingness becomes a fierce sense of self.

And suddenly you’re walking through a door you’ve never seen before. And it’s beautiful.

Read more about dealing with the unknown