Answer #1: Because.

Forty years ago, I passed a college psychology final by writing one word.

This is where that one word eventually led me.

You maybe asking...

"So...what do you think your professor meant?"

The honest answer?

I still don't know.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped caring.

Not because the question isn't interesting.

Because another one became even more interesting.

What do I mean every time I answer a question with...

Because.

Think about how often we use that word.

Why am I like this?

Because of my childhood.

Why did they leave?

Because they stopped loving me.

Why can't I change?

Because I'm wired this way.

Why do people believe what they believe?

Because they've been programmed.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

I've started wondering if every because says as much about the person answering as it does about the question itself.

Our experiences become our becauses.

Our beliefs become our becauses.

Our disappointments become our becauses.

Even our hopes become our becauses.

They are the stories we tell ourselves to make the world feel coherent.

That doesn't mean the stories are false.

Some of them are supported by decades of psychological research.

Some are grounded in neuroscience.

Some are little more than convenient fiction.

Most, I suspect, live somewhere in between.

Science is remarkably good at explaining how.

How habits form.

How memories are stored.

How trauma reshapes the brain.

How beliefs become reinforced over time.

Those explanations matter.

They help us understand ourselves with greater compassion and clarity.

But they don't always answer the question we think we're asking.

We ask why...

...and often receive a how.

Somewhere along the way, I began wondering if we confuse explanation with meaning.

They're not the same thing.

Explaining why a flower blooms doesn't tell me what beauty is.

Explaining grief doesn't make it hurt less.

Explaining consciousness doesn't tell me what it feels like to be alive.

Sometimes, "because" is the beginning of understanding.

Sometimes...

it's the place where curiosity quietly ends.

Maybe that's what has stayed with me all these years.

Not my professor.

Not the exam.

A single word that reminds me how quickly the mind reaches for certainty.

These days, I try to notice that moment.

The instant my mind wants to explain.

To label.

To conclude.

Sometimes those explanations are useful.

Sometimes they're necessary.

And sometimes...

I let the question remain unanswered just a little longer.

Not because I reject answers.

But because I've learned that certainty often arrives before understanding does.

So, what did my professor mean?

I honestly have no idea.

Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

Maybe he didn't.

Maybe it was just an eccentric psychology professor sitting barefoot on top of a desk in the 1980s, tossing a pebble into a room full of distracted college students.

If that's true...

It took forty years for the ripples to reach me.

And maybe that's enough.

Reflection

When was the last time you answered a question with because...

...and paused long enough to ask yourself whether it was an explanation...

or a story?

I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Sometimes the conversation is more interesting than the conclusion.

Breathe.

Notice.

Question.

Until next time...

— Unscripted Mind

https://just-breathe.ghost.io