11/18/21
Over the years, I’ve learned to appreciate a good question.
It makes sense to me – when we’re younger, the world is overwhelming. Our brains are still developing, we’re learning how to learn, and while we have questions, we want to receive statements.
“The sky is blue. A tadpole is a baby frog. Love is an easy thing.”
Statements are reliable, predictable. They endeavor to eliminate uncertainty, shut down controversy, offer little space for doubt. Statements are comfortable to a heart, mind, body too prone towards uncomfortability.
Affection adulation appreciation for questions comes later as we begin to understand the humanity inherent in searching. In experiencing, diving deep, theorizing, testing, holding loosely. Testing again and again.
Questioning – again and again and again.
The sky often appears blue to the human eye. A tadpole is first an egg, then a tadpole with hind legs, then a tadpole with front and hind legs, then a baby frog, then an adult frog. Love is not always an easy thing.
After a lifetime of stubbornly holding onto the idea that I could define myself through statements, I’ve adopted a few questions that have radically changed my relationship with myself. They’re pretty simple.
How’s your brain? How’s your heart?
How’s your brain? How’s your heart?
I would like to clarify that these questions aren’t rhetorical, they aren’t sub-sequential, and they aren’t superficial. I don’t know the answers before I ask.
I can’t shirk the responsibility that inevitably follows any attempt I make at answering these questions. And for the life of me, I haven’t been able to withhold myself from them even on days when hiding is my greatest desire.
So I’ll ask you two questions in the hopes that they unearth some tucked away pieces of you that are striving struggling scrambling to remain hidden. Hold yourself tenderly as you answer. Offer yourself the kind of love that comes from the deepest well – and see how you bloom.
How’s your brain? How’s your heart?
Lightly,
Leah
Leah Kepley, M.Ed. 