Space of the unknown
After class, someone shared with me that she deeply longed to go on a retreat to India.
“I feel a yes in my heart,” she said. “But I wonder… do I really need to go all the way to India? Or can I find what I’m looking for right here, in the Netherlands?”
I smiled and said, “That’s the real question, isn’t it? Is this something your heart is truly calling for or is it an escape from something that’s asking to be met right where you are?”
As we talked, it became clear that so many voices around her were telling her what’s good for her, what she should do, what she should want, who she should be. And when I asked her what she truly felt, she grew quiet.
Tears filled her eyes.
She whispered, “I don’t know what’s good for me anymore.”
She told me how she had spent so many years being there for others, her children, her family, her work, that she had completely lost touch with herself. The thought of doing something just for her felt selfish. She said, “I want to share this with others. I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
And that, I felt, was the real heart of the conversation, the moment where truth began to unfold.
She grew quiet for a moment. Then, softly, she said, “I don’t even know what’s good for me anymore.”
As she spoke, I could feel the tenderness in that truth, and the courage it takes to admit it.
Because sooner or later, all of us come to a moment like this.
A threshold.
A point where the life we’ve built no longer fits who we’re becoming.
Where the routines, the roles, the relationships, or the ways of being that once gave us comfort begin to feel too small.
And yet, letting go feels terrifying, because even when something is no longer serving us, it still feels safe simply because it’s familiar. So we hold on. Not because it’s right, but because it’s known. Because the unknown feels like groundlessness. But eventually, something deep inside us starts to whisper: It’s time.
Time to say no to what no longer serves us. Time to release what we’ve outgrown. Time to trust that stepping into the unknown, however shaky it feels, is the only way forward.
And this is where many of us stumble. Because the moment we leave behind what we’ve known, we step into a vast space of uncertainty. We don’t yet know who we are without those patterns, those roles, those attachments. And the mind, desperate for stability, rushes to fill that space.
“I don’t know, so I need to fix it.”
“I don’t know where I’m going, so I need to decide.”
“I don’t know who I am, so I’ll reach for the next thing, the next label, the next plan.”
We live in a world that celebrates clarity and direction, the quick fix, the next step, the constant forward motion. But what if not knowing isn’t something to fix, but something to feel? What if the not knowing is actually sacred space, the soil where something new is quietly taking root?
Because before every transformation, there is this: the space between. The space of the unknown.
It’s rarely comfortable. It asks us to pause when everything in us wants to move. It asks us to listen when there are no answers. It asks us to stay with the discomfort, the emptiness, the uncertainty, the silence, and to trust that life is still moving, even when we can’t yet see how.
Reflection
Can I stay with that pause, the tender, uncertain space between what was and what will be?
Can I allow the heart to breathe without demanding it to know?
Can I give myself permission to not rush toward the next version of myself, but to be with the unfolding that is already happening, quietly, beneath the surface?
Like the seed doesn’t know it will become a tree. It only knows the darkness of the soil. But that darkness isn’t a mistake, it’s the place of becoming.
And so it is with us.
When we allow ourselves to linger in not knowing, we give life space to rearrange itself within us. We begin to hear the quiet whispers of the heart again, whispers that are easily drowned out by noise, advice, or expectation. We begin to notice the subtle pull toward what feels true, even if it’s still unclear where it will lead.
Clarity doesn’t come from rushing. It comes from softening. It arises in stillness, in honesty, in the courage to stay. So maybe the invitation is not to figure it all out, but to create space for what’s ready to reveal itself, in its own time. To trust that even when the path isn’t visible, it is still unfolding beneath your feet. That the small, gentle steps you take, the ones that feel aligned, tender, real, are enough.
You don’t need to know the whole path. You only need to stay true to the next step that feels alive in you.
And perhaps that’s what yoga, and life, is truly about. Not the search for certainty, but the willingness to sit in presence. Not the perfect direction, but the honest listening.
So if you find yourself here, between what was and what’s not yet known, know that you’re not lost.
You’re in the sacred in-between. The place where something deep is quietly unfolding.
Stay.
Breathe.
Listen.
Trust.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s not about finding your way to India or anywhere else.
Maybe it’s about remembering how to come home to yourself no matter where you are.
In this, if your heart still gives a YES to ReTreat in India, you’re most welcome :)
If you are standing in that tender space of not knowing…
If you wish to pause, to breathe, to reconnect with what is quietly asking for your attention…
If you feel a whisper inside saying “stay with this,” even when your mind wants answers
Then this is for you.
Let It Be is a self-paced retreat moment, a few spacious hours just for you, to soften, to release the rush toward clarity, and to settle into the truth that is already alive within you.
A guided practice of allowing. Of remembering. Of being.
Without forcing, fixing, or needing to know.
Just you, your breath, and the soft unfolding of what’s next, in its own time.
Create this sacred pause for yourself, wherever you are, whenever you’re ready.