What Did You Learn?
The question “What did you learn?” comes in many shapes and sizes. And who is asking the question can put additional weight on the inquiry. Like when you do something wrong or dishonest as a young boy (or a grown man) and suddenly your parent appears asking, “young man, what did you learn from your experience?” When feeling caught in the headlights, answers to this question can feel shallow and ill prepared. Perhaps just enough to satisfy the inquisitor, but not enough to resonate in your own soul.
As we grow up, our propensity to seek knowledge increases and subsequently we aspire to figure out what we have learned or what we can learn. Fact is, this quest to learn is never ending. This is particularly true with our own self. Whether we want to admit it, we are constantly trying to peel back the onion to better understand who we are, how we think, what we want, where we fall short, how we aspire to be more of this, less of that.
The answers for each of us are never the same, but one thing is consistent. We fear the truth behind the learning. Fundamentally we know the truth will set us free. But more often, the truth feels like it’s lurking, silent, and elusive. Initially, this is what makes it scary. We want to be in control, we want to have the answers, to “see the light” – and quite frankly being in the dark sucks. Hunting for the truth can be painstakingly difficult – inquiring into the vast unknown, wondering what will be found. And we often find these trying moments can last months, years, even a lifetime. But perhaps more frightening is what we might learn from the truth, once it is found. Inevitably this newfound understanding will lead to realizations that lead to considerations which then lead to decisions – about how or why we should act on that truth. In other words, we might need to do something about it. This may be a key reason why many of us avoid such learning. We are reluctant to take action on our findings.
Recently I was asked this question “what did you learn” when asked about Soul Degree. The inquirer was totally innocuous – a complete stranger carrying no preconceptions (unlike what you might feel if your mother or father were asking). In a split second, a whole slew of answers came to mind… I learned that this guy did this, that guy came from there, that guy liked such and such, and so forth. It took another moment to realize these answers were superficial and not what I truly learned. And then the truth appeared.
I learned that I, me, we, us grown men… often have a false definition of what it means to be a man. I learned that many of us feel lonely despite never truly being alone. I learned that we are always trying to do the right thing, to be the strong provider, a loveable father, a reliable and trustworthy partner. But often we lack confidence in believing that we are actually delivering against some self-prescribed metric of success. I learned that we are hard pressed to slow down, look around, take it all in. To this end, I learned we are capable of stopping our incessant desire to keep pace (with those around us) and instead take a knee, in the muddy path, to inspect the tiny black dots on the back of an orange newt. I learned that we often find ourselves overflowing with self-judgment about whether we are “doing it right.” I learned that we care deeply about those around us, but question our ability to deliver pure love. I learned that men need laughter to feel alive – not surface level chuckles, but deep guttural laughs.
I also learned that learning new things is like a revolving door – we can (and often do) go around and around while noticing new things (about the same topic) with each passing. This sense of discovery with ourselves and of those around us isn’t redundant nor does it signal the end. If anything, it marks the beginning.
// Christopher Robbins