Forty years ago, I passed a college final exam by writing a single word.

I'm still trying to understand it.

This is the first in a two-part reflection. The second will follow in a few days—not to provide answers, but to continue the conversation.

It was the first day of psychology class.

Our professor walked in with long hair, a tie-dyed shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of well-worn clogs.

Then again...

It was the '80s.

The hair didn't surprise anyone.

The tie-dye barely got a second glance.

The clogs?

Perfectly acceptable.

What happened next...

That was different.

Without saying a word, he walked to the front of the room, kicked off his clogs, climbed on top of his desk, folded himself into a cross-legged position, and looked out at a room full of students trying to decide whether we were in Psychology 101 or about to join a commune.

Then he spoke.

"Why?"

A pause.

"Because."

That was the lecture.

At least, that's how I remember it.

No syllabus.

No introductions.

No "Welcome to Psychology."

Just two words.

I was twenty-something.

I wasn't looking for life's great mysteries.

I was looking for enough credits to eventually graduate.

If you'd asked me that day whether those two words would still be rattling around in my head forty years later, I would have laughed.

The semester rolled on.

Classes.

Work.

Friends.

Life.

And, honestly, I forgot all about it.

Until the final exam.

One question.

Question #1

Why?

That was it.

The expected answer?

Because.

One word.

Hand in your paper.

Congratulations.

You just passed psychology.

I've thought about that exam far more over the years than I ever thought about the class itself.

The strange thing is...

I still don't know what the professor meant.

Maybe it was a joke.

Maybe it was brilliant.

Maybe those are the same thing.

I've stopped trying to figure out what was in his mind that morning.

Instead, I've become interested in what has happened in mine ever since.

Because somewhere along the way, I stopped asking what he meant...

...and started asking what I mean every time I ask why.

Maybe that's where the real lesson begins.

Or maybe...

it's where the real question begins.

In a few days, I'll share Part Two: Because.

Not because I've finally figured out what my professor meant.

I probably never will.

But because the older I get, the more interested I become in the stories we tell ourselves every time we answer the question, Why?

Reflection:

Has a teacher...

A stranger...

Or a single moment...

Ever stayed with you for decades?

Not because you understood it...

But because you didn't.

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

We learn as much from each other's questions as we do from our own answers.

Breathe.

Notice.

Question.

Until next time...

— Unscripted Mind

https://just-breathe.ghost.io