A quiet reflection on uncertainty, inner silence, and living the questions
There was a season in my life when all I seemed to have were questions. Not the kind that demand a quick Google search, but the slow-burning ones that sit beneath the surface, shaping how you see everything.
Who am I now?
What truly matters?
Am I where I’m meant to be?
I remember sitting on my verandah one dusky evening, watching the light soften across the trees. The wind was still. The birds had quieted. And in that suspended silence, I felt the weight of my own search—for clarity, for closure, for something that would neatly tie all the threads of my life together.
But nothing arrived.
No epiphany. No voice from the sky. No inner surge of knowing. Just the simple stillness of dusk and a body tired of wrestling with itself.
That evening, I stopped trying to solve everything. I simply sat. And in that gentle surrender, something shifted. Not a grand revelation—but a soft, almost imperceptible peace. The kind that comes when you stop insisting that life speak in bold answers, and start listening to its subtle pauses.
We live in a world that celebrates certainty. We are taught to have vision boards, ten-year plans, and bulletproof strategies. But what if not knowing is its own kind of wisdom? What if the space of uncertainty is not a void, but a womb—where new understandings are quietly gestating?
Sometimes, clarity is not something we find. It’s something that finds us—when we’re no longer demanding it.
And in the meantime, there is grace in simply living the questions.
There is courage in saying, “I don’t know, and that’s okay.”
There is humility in trusting that even in confusion, we are still moving—gently, faithfully—towards ourselves.
So if you find yourself in a place of not-knowing, you’re not lost.
You’re becoming.
Try asking:
- What part of me is uncomfortable with not knowing?
- What would it mean to stay open, without rushing toward a conclusion?
- Can I trust that insight will arrive, not on my timeline, but in its own season?
There is a quiet intelligence in your not-knowing.
There is a map unfolding, even if you can’t see it yet.
And until then, may you rest in the deep, sacred patience of becoming.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.