November: The Way Knows The Way
You don’t have to know the way.
The way knows the way.
—Lyndsey Scott
As I was contemplating what to write about this month, I considered so many topics that felt important to me. Ultimately, I decided to focus on the concept of surrender, as it has offered me so much growth and learning over my own lifetime and because it shows up as helpful in my therapy practice so often. Surrender sounds deceptively simple but actually requires many skills and traits, including presence, trust, and flexibility, to name just a few.
Surrender felt like the right topic in a metaphorical sense. If you’ve been reading along from the beginning of this writing project, then you may remember that my plan in starting it at the beginning of the year was for it to be intentionally time limited. Much like our own human lives, which have a beginning, a middle, and an end, this blog has had its own life and timeline. Since I believe we benefit from practicing surrender when it comes to endings, especially deaths, it seemed appropriate to focus on the concept as this writing project prepares to come to a close.
One important clarification I would like to offer about surrender is this: giving up and surrendering are often conflated but are not the same thing. In fact, I see them as near enemies, to use Brene Brown’s language. In case you’re not familiar with the concept, near enemies are emotions or behaviors that appear similar but which actually undermine one another (e.g., control is the near enemy of connection; pity is the near enemy of compassion).
How is giving up the near enemy of surrender? Giving up is collapsing, throwing in the towel, wet noodling it. If I’m giving up on something, I have closed my heart to it. Surrender, on the other hand, requires a lot of faith, a great deal of strength and stamina. It’s a continual process, a commitment to being present, accepting what is happening, choosing to allow the unfolding, and keeping my heart open to what is.
Surrender also requires a continual partnership with the pathway of life itself, what many in mythological or archetypal terms call The Way.
Partnering with the path itself as a character in my life journey has been one of the most helpful and creative methods for practicing surrender that I’ve ever come across. The idea that the pathway has its own awareness, its own consciousness and wisdom, is especially supportive if I feel lost or alone, or I can’t see the way forward. It’s a reminder to pause, take a breath, and then take the next right step.
I don’t have to know the way; the way knows the way. I shared this concept with a client recently, and she wisely summarized it as “letting go of the illusion of control.”
If you happen to be familiar with the Indiana Jones movies (I was obsessed with them as a kid), then you may recall the famous “leap of faith” scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. In it, Indie comes upon a seemingly impassable chasm. He must find a way to cross this canyon, and after much internal struggle, he finally discerns he must step out into the void without being able to see how he could do anything but fall straight down to his certain death. Instead of falling, Indie’s foot lands on an invisible stone bridge, expertly crafted to blend in with the canyon walls—an optical illusion that forces him to have faith in something he can’t see. That’s the wisdom of the way, the path itself as a character in the story.
I realize this concept of trusting that the way knows the way is a bit esoteric and non-concrete. If you’re comfortable with some vagueness, it can be enough to simply meditate on this idea. But if you’d like some more concreteness, I’d like to offer a few practices for working with trusting the path itself:
Write poetry or prose about the pathway you see yourself on, writing about how you imagine the way having its own consciousness and wisdom.
Create visual art by drawing, painting, or collaging the way, or by creating a sigil.
Do anything that helps you to feel a sense of both freedom/weightlessness and also being held (float therapy is one of my favorite activities for this), and meditate on the pathway itself knowing the way forward.
Whenever I feel worried or uncertain about the future, I like to remember this concept and consciously reconnect with the path itself. I can ask myself: what does the path want to teach me? How can I partner with the path, even if I can’t see it? Can I surrender and trust the path to reveal itself to me when I’m ready?
I’d like to leave you with this beautiful song that a dear friend shared with me recently. It’s called “The Way Knows the Way” by Lyndsey Scott. I think it perfectly captures this practice of surrender by trusting in the wisdom of the path itself. Here are a few of the lyrics:
You don’t have to know the way.
The way knows the way.
You don’t have to plan the way.
Trust the way.
Feel your way.
The way knows.
The way knows.
The way knows the way.
I hope this philosophy of trusting the way is helpful for you. Thank you so much for reading. I’ll see you back here next month for my final installment.
