Listening Before Deciding

From Preparation to Participation

Some of the most important decisions in my life arrived long before I understood them.

At the time, they did not feel like decisions.

They felt more like a thought that kept returning.

A question.

A curiosity.

A possibility that remained quietly present.

Life would continue as normal, yet something would stay in the background of my awareness.

Not demanding.

Not urgent.

Just alive.

Looking back, I can see this pattern repeating itself throughout my life.

Before moving country.

Before leaving relationships that no longer felt right.

Before changing direction professionally.

Before buying a home.

Before adoption.

Before many of the experiences that would eventually shape my life.

The attention arrived first.

The decision came later.

I do not think this is entirely new.

In many ways, I have always lived like this.

The difference is that I now recognise the pattern more clearly.

What once felt like instinct, curiosity or a quiet pull has become something I can observe, reflect upon and eventually put into words.

Looking back, I can see that some possibilities arrived long before I understood them.

They appeared first as a feeling of aliveness.

Something that kept returning.

Something that remained quietly present.

And only later did I realise that a decision had already begun taking shape.

Over recent months, meditation has deepened my relationship with this process.

Not because it provides answers.

Not because it removes uncertainty.

But because it creates space.

And within that space, something becomes easier to hear.

The more still I become, the more clearly I seem to hear what wants my attention.

Some ideas arrive and disappear.

Others return again and again.

A piece of writing.

A future project.

A conversation.

A possibility.

A feeling that something is asking to emerge.

The more I pay attention, the more I notice that certain things remain quietly present long before I understand what they mean.

Recently, I found myself wondering what it might be like to teach psychology in a school setting.

There was no plan.

No application.

No intention to make a major change.

Just curiosity.

A few days later, an opportunity appeared.

Not an answer.

An invitation.

A conversation.

Whether anything comes from it remains to be seen.

Yet it reminded me of something I have noticed many times before.

Life often seems to respond when I am paying attention.

Not always with certainty.

Not always with clarity.

But often with the next step.

I have noticed the same pattern in other areas of my life.

Ideas for my writing.

The development of my practice.

The possibility of creating something larger than what currently exists.

Future projects that continue calling for my attention.

They rarely arrive fully formed.

They begin as a quiet pull.

A sense of aliveness.

Something that keeps returning.

And eventually I find myself recognising what was there all along.

What fascinates me is that doubt rarely disappears at the beginning.

Many of the most important decisions in my life were accompanied by uncertainty.

Questions remained.

Fears remained.

Practical concerns remained.

Yet underneath the doubt something else remained too.

A quieter knowing.

Not certainty.

Not confidence.

Just a sense that I was being asked to pay attention.

Only later, through living the experience itself, did understanding begin to emerge.

There have been decisions in my life that I only truly understood years afterwards.

Not because I lacked insight at the time.

But because some experiences cannot be understood from the outside.

They can only be understood from within.

Through living them.

Through reflecting on them.

Through becoming the person the experience was inviting us to become.

What Happened Next

As I prepared to publish these reflections, something already happened.

The conversation I mentioned took place.

I arrived feeling excited and curious.

It did not feel like an interview.

It felt like a conversation.

I found myself genuinely interested in learning more about the role, the students and the school.

Looking back, I realised that I had arrived differently.

Rather than trying to secure an outcome, I was interested in the conversation itself.

Perhaps for the first time, I felt less like somebody being assessed and more like somebody exploring whether something might be a good fit.

What surprised me was how quickly the conversation evolved.

Within the first part of our discussion, the opportunity moved from possibility into reality and I was offered the role.

The speed of it stayed with me.

Not because it felt rushed, but because it felt natural.

The opportunity arrived in a way that felt aligned, and yet afterwards I found myself recognising that I was still carrying an identity of preparation rather than arrival.

I realised that part of my surprise had very little to do with the role itself.

It came from recognising that a small part of me was still relating to life as though I was recovering.

Still preparing.

Still waiting.

Still wondering whether I was ready.

Yet life seemed to be responding with a different message:

Perhaps you are already becoming the person you have been preparing to be.

As I reflected more deeply, I realised the conversation was not only about work.

It touched something much larger.

Questions about abundance.

Questions about visibility.

Questions about receiving.

Questions about what happens when opportunities arrive and we no longer relate to ourselves primarily through struggle, rebuilding or preparation.

What followed was a day of reflection.

I found myself thinking about worth, success and the subtle ways we continue to live as though scarcity might return at any moment.

I reflected on my relationship with money.

Not simply in terms of spending, saving or earning, but in terms of trust.

Trust that life can contain both humility and abundance.

Trust that caring for my children, investing in my wellbeing and appreciating beauty do not diminish my values.

Trust that receiving does not mean becoming careless.

Trust that growth does not require guilt.

I began to realise that abundance is not the opposite of humility.

Abundance is not excess.

Nor is it proving our worth through possessions.

Perhaps abundance is no longer organising our lives around the expectation of scarcity.

Perhaps it is allowing ourselves to participate fully in the life that is already unfolding.

I also became aware of another fear.

The fear of being seen.

The fear that visible growth, success or prosperity might distance us from those around us, particularly within communities where modesty, sacrifice and struggle are familiar stories.

Yet another part of me responded with a different question:

What if thriving does not mean abandoning humility?

What if growth is simply growth?

What if allowing ourselves to flourish honours rather than betrays the journey that brought us here?

For many years I have focused on learning, perseverance, contribution and service.

These values remain deeply important to me.

Yet alongside them another invitation seems to be emerging.

The invitation to receive.

To acknowledge what has already been built.

To appreciate what is already here.

To stop living entirely in anticipation of a future moment when everything will finally be ready.

To participate more fully in the life that is already unfolding.

One quotation that has accompanied me for many years is Rumi's reminder:

What you seek is seeking you.

I have often returned to these words in meditation and reflection.

Not because they tell me what to do, but because they invite me to listen.

To notice what keeps returning.

To pay attention to what feels alive.

To remain open to the possibility that life may already be in conversation with us.

Looking back, I can see how many important experiences in my life began this way.

Not as plans.

Not as goals.

But as a quiet pull.

A curiosity.

A possibility that remained.

Perhaps what I thought I was seeking was also inviting me towards a different version of myself.

Sometimes the decision comes first and the meaning follows.

Sometimes we walk the path before we understand where it is leading.

Perhaps this is why I have become less interested in making perfect decisions.

And more interested in learning how to listen.

To my body.

To my values.

To my energy.

To what expands me.

To what contracts me.

To what keeps returning.

To what quietly remains.

I rarely reach clarity by thinking harder.

More often, clarity arrives after I have spent enough time listening.

Enough time walking.

Writing.

Meditating.

Living.

Enough time allowing the question to mature.

The decision then begins to feel less like something I am making and more like something I am recognising.

And perhaps sometimes, after all that listening, life responds more quickly than expected.

Perhaps wisdom is not always knowing what to do.

Perhaps wisdom is learning how to listen long enough to hear what life is already trying to tell us.

Perhaps some decisions do not arrive as answers.

Perhaps they arrive first as attention.

A thought.

A curiosity.

A possibility.

A quiet voice.

And maybe the real work is not deciding.

Maybe the real work is learning how to listen.

Because listening is not only how we recognise what wants to emerge.

It is also how we recognise who we are becoming.

🌿💛

M.A.L.I. Neuro-Somatic Practice
Reflect. Reconnect. Grow.