July 15, 2025 | Issue #13 | Living The Questions
In this week's edition we’ll unpack:
Living The Question — Why leaning into the unknown can calm your mind more than chasing every answer ever could.
The Law of Impermanence — How this ancient truth softens the grip of worry by reminding us that nothing stays stuck forever.
Not Everything Needs Fixing — A gentle nudge to rest your hammer for a day and trust that some things mend themselves in time.
May these words find you well, as we untangle our thoughts and explore new ideas…
“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
Living the Questions: The Comfort in Not Having the Answer
Was there a holiday or something? I feel like there was some historically significant date I probably should have remembered for a test at some point. Waves hand dismissively. That’s not our theme for this week’s newsletter. Okey Dokey! Let’s keep July rolling, shall we?
At what point, all those hundreds of thousands of years ago, did some ancestor of ours stand up and declare, “Hm. I don’t think we should live like this anymore — I know what’s best.”
Not that it matters. Not that it’ll change anything. And surely not because it does us any good to dwell in the past—this is purely for the sake of curious thought.
“We know what’s best for you.”
Whether it’s our elders, parents, teachers, or any other authority figure—I’m sure you’ve heard that line before. Sometimes, they’re right, and I’ll be the first to admit…
“Ya know what? You’re absolutely right. So…please, tell me what to do.”
Yes. It can be substantially, painfully, and down right excruciatingly hard to admit you don’t know what’s best for you— or even what’s going on—but sometimes, for sanity's sake, and argument’s sake, you do.
But let’s widen that lens: not just parents, not just teachers or principals, judges, police, boss’s or CEO’s, senators, presidents— or whole governments— but anyone who claims to know what’s best. The one standing there, holding the weight of responsibility for another life. So yes, please— if you know what’s best, take the reins, lead the pack.
I still dare to say this though: there is no one—no person, no organization— that’s immune to the truly venomous side effects of absolute control, accountability, power. Whether over an individual, a community, state, country— or the whole flipping planet even. That’s a lot of pressure. It’s one reason I don’t think I could ever be a parent, and I genuinely applaud every single one of you who is.
Over the past few months, we’ve all had our share of experiences and perspectives— both personally, politically, perhaps even spiritually. For me, hearing and seeing so many stories, fears, and anxieties during my day-to-day work, I felt compelled to put some of this into words. Maybe just to ease the pandemonium— or at least name the folly spreading out there.
In short: there’s something quantum about it all. The more we have, the more we learn, the more we see— the less we truly know to be true.
“What experience and history teaches us is that people and governments have never learned anything from history, or acted on principles deduced from it.”
― Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel
As someone who leans (and uncomfortably so) toward being a ‘control freak’ in ways, I’ve learned that when I come across someone— or something —that claims to know what’s best for me, or wants to control the whole world, I say: by all means, control it all. But why stop there?!
What if maybe we could just close off our community, build a giant wall around the city— or the whole country?? Pretty sure that’s been done, multiple times in history.
So, better yet, expand it all outward, stretch out and touch every corner, control every person, every action and reaction, control atoms themselves— walls, borders, barriers. No visitors today, or ever! Earth is CLOSED. Then we’ll surely have order, right? right!?
Creation and Entropy. The rhythm of eternity, the breath-work of the universe. Everything builds itself up, piece by piece— cells into creatures, creatures into civilizations, civilizations into stories and myths and skyscrapers and advancement after advancement. And then, slowly, quietly, inevitably, it all starts to come undone.
Stars burn out, empires crumble, walls fall, borders fade. What was built falls apart, only to feed the next rising thing.
The Universe, in all of its wonder, is both expanding outward and collapsing inward— always breathing, always recycling itself through us. It’s all the same cycle, whether you’re looking at the birth of a galaxy or the rise and fall of an idea in your own mind, or even an entire empire.
Does this ring any bells? I do hope so. Because they say, once a bell is rung, you can’t unring it. And maybe you don’t need to— maybe you just listen to the echo the sound makes. Then let it fade away, and wait for the next sound to build.
No matter the when, where, how or what dimension— it’s all the same, and it’s all completely different. And we’re all just out here breathing in and out together.
Fun Takeaway: Everything builds up, everything breaks down, and both are equally part of being alive. This is exsisting, my friends. We’re not meant to hold it all together forever, society isn’t meant to stay the same, not much in life is meant to last forever. We’re meant to breathe, rebuild, let go and watch it all cycle back around again.
Philosophy of the Week:
The Law of Impermanence (Anicca)
“Nothing stays. Nothing sticks. And that’s exactly what sets us free.”
Impermanence or Anicca, ah-NEE-chah— is one of Buddhism’s three marks of existence. For over 2,500 years, monks have used this simple truth as both anchor and compass. They meditate on change, not to become detached and stoic, but to soften their grip on life’s passing storms— joy, sorrow, gain, loss.
When monks sweep the temple grounds or rake sand into perfect patterns, they know the wind will undo their work. They accept it. Some even build intricate sand mandalas grain by grain, only to sweep them away once complete— a living lesson that beauty doesn’t need to last forever to matter.
All conditioned things are impermanent— when one sees this with wisdom, one turns away from suffering.” — The Buddha
Why it matters for us, in the now:
Remembering Anicca helps us hold life more lightly— not to stop caring, but to stop clinging so tightly to what must change. In everyday life, it’s an invitation to enjoy what’s here now, to trust the seasons, and to see endings as doorways, not walls.
When something feels like it’s falling apart, maybe it is— and maybe that’s exactly how the next thing begins. So notice what’s changing, thank it for what it gave you, and breathe easy— you’re part of the cycle too.
Day2Day Survival Tip:
Remember: Not Everything Needs Fixing Today. Sometimes, the best survival tip and the bravest thing you can do is nothing at all — for now.
In a world that glorifies constant improvement, there’s quiet power in letting something be — unfinished, imperfect, unresolved. Summer heat is a good teacher for this: when the air is heavy and your mind feels melted, it’s okay to leave the broken thing alone for a bit.
The leaky faucet can drip for another day. The unanswered email can wait till morning. The knot in your chest might loosen on its own once you stop tugging at it.
Rest isn’t giving up. It’s letting the pieces breathe until they know where to land. Not everything demands your attention, energy or elbow grease.
So take a deep breath — the fix will find its moment.
Words of Wisdom:
Here’s a gentle reminder that some things just want to be lived, and not everything needs doing right away. A quote from Letters to a Young Poet:
Be Patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves.
Like locked rooms and like books that are written
in a very foreign tongue.
Do not now seek the answers,
Which cannot be given you
Because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it,
live along some distant day,
into the answer.
– Rainer Maria Rilke, Letter Four
Thanks for reading!
Until next time,
Guthrie
