We don't need to have all the answers
and how clarity can come in different forms
During my last few therapy sessions, my therapist and I have been discussing a certain issue going on in my life. She’s helping me to process untapped emotions, to get to the root of issues that I’ve carried with me my whole life. It can be a long and draining progress. But at the end of my last session, she asked me, as she always does, “What have you gathered from today’s session?”
Honestly, I was a bit frustrated. Most sessions, I leave with clarity. With the confidence that I have learned something new, opened up my mind and my awareness to a new perspective. But this time, the issue we had been discussing was still bothering me. I wanted a solution, and I didn’t have one. So I said to her the only thing I could think to say, the only thing I felt was truest in my heart at that moment.
“I’m confused. I wish I had the answers. But I guess, maybe, for now, that’s okay. Maybe I can be okay with just not knowing.”
The moment I said those words, I felt the full solidity in my bones that comes only from hearing an undeniable truth.
My confusion dissipated. That was the answer. In my head, it hadn’t sounded right. I’d wanted black or white. Hot or cold. Here or there. I hadn’t been searching for in betweens and gray areas. But when I verbalized my thoughts, I knew that the truth of the moment, that moment, was that I didn’t have an answer yet. That maybe I never would. That maybe the issue would remain far more complex than I would like. But if I could just take it one moment at the time, sit with it just for today, I could make room for life to unfold. I could accept it as it was and let it be.
Tuesday night, while writing, I found myself charting out options for my character, Ava, for a big decision she has to make. I made a little tree diagram of sorts, plotting out the result of her decision every step of the way. I was frustrated because Ava needed to decide—I needed to decide—what she was going to do next so that I could continue writing the scene.
The thing about it is, the choices Ava was confronted with weren’t going to affect her. By the end of the chapter, something else would happen that would neutralize any plans she’d ever made. Life is going to get in the way, as it does. But the chapter was about her grappling with indecision, and I wanted to know what she was going to show the reader.
In the midst of my frustration, I remembered my discussion with my therapist. The words came back to me, “I’m confused. I wish I had the answers. But I guess, maybe, for now, that’s okay. Maybe I can be okay with just not knowing.”
Then my speed-of-light-moving brain took those words and poured them into Ava.
It clicked then. Ava, also, didn’t need to have all the answers. What if she, like any regular human being, didn’t know which road to take? Especially since it wouldn’t matter by the end of the chapter anyway. Maybe she could remain in limbo.
I think, as writers, because we show up to the page with something to say and so eager to say it, we can sometimes forget that a big part of experiencing life, of living in the highest conscious state, is that we don’t have to have all the answers. That more often than we’d like to admit, we don’t know what to do next. But we keep on living, keep on moving, and eventually, life shifts in such a way that situations untangle themselves one way or another.
Like in the real world, our characters sometimes actively seek answers. Sometimes the answers come to them. But they should also be allowed to feel lost, undecided, and lacking direction. Sometimes the answer is no answer at all. Sometimes the solution really is that open-ended. Our characters’ choices, too, can sit in the gray. We don’t have to have a moral of the story. We can allow our narratives to also show this more complex (perhaps more frustrating) side of life, the one where we’re just human and though we can do amazing things, sometimes we’re quite limited, and that’s okay, too.
I know this doesn’t always apply. I know that certain situations require action. They require assertiveness. Compelling, moving plots require this, too. But there are moments where things can also just be. Where questions can rest unanswered. Where we can sit in silent contemplation until we reach clarity.
And clarity can be anything. Clarity can be “yes.” Clarity can be “no.” Clarity can be “let’s just give it up to the universe because we have zero control.” Clarity can be, “In the grand scope of things, this question doesn’t matter.” Clarity is whatever makes sense to you at this moment in time, whatever feels true, deep down in your bones.
Quote of the week
This is a quote I like to think of when anxiety’s bogging me down. When I feel the relentless need to figure out the answers, to find solutions, to feel prepared for all my imagined worst-case scenarios. In tune with this week’s topic, let’s make room for our inner being to speak to us. There are answers that are beyond our brain’s capabilities. And let’s remember to offer this grace to our fictional characters as well.
Hi there, I’m Maria! I’m a freelance fiction editor assisting women writers in amplifying their voices through their writing. You can find me on Instagram @theintuitivedesk. Or visit my site
www. theintuitivedesk.com to find out more.
I’m also a writer currently working on too many novels at the same time. You can read some of my past writings here.
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This is so important. If we can increase our comfort with discomfort, then we also have a certain sense of control over our emotions instead of our emotions controlling us.
I love that you mentioned that clarity isn't always a yes or no. Life doesn't unfold at the ends of the spectrum. It's all the muck in the middle where we plant seeds that truly grow.