To be in Awe.
On a weekly basis, and sometimes more, I spend one hour of conscious inquiry with a dear friend, probing the heart of the matter we call life. The structure of our inquiry is simple but profound—each of us takes turns, for ten minutes at a time, while the other actively listens. In these moments, words are often not just sounds—they are movements, forces that gather and dissipate between us, with us, and around us. As we settle into the architecture of our bodies, we allow ourselves to fumble, stumble upon truths that fail as much as they liberate. The intention is to move beyond the familiar patterns of thought into something deeper, perhaps less comfortable where vulnerability lingers.
Today, the word "commitment" dropped in—heavy with purpose, so tied to the idea of doing. Commitment—the act of being dedicated to something larger than oneself, to a cause, a principle, a path, a God, a freedom. And yet, commitment is never steady – and in its place, as it does, something else emerges—something more tender, more mysterious. Let’s look at that.
We speak of commitment as if it is a contract we make with the world, a promise to be better, to do more, to transcend our faults and failures. But are we? Our betterments are often at the cost of something else—perhaps our own aliveness, our own ability to be present. What if true commitment is not about striving but of cultivating a willingness to be in awe of life—not because we understand it fully, but because we are alive.
And yet, this is no easy thing. Look at marriage, look at hope. Look at how we return, again and again, to our resolutions, the promises we make to ourselves and to each other, only to falter, only to fall short. Commitment is often framed as the path to redemption, the way to avoid repeating mistakes, the quest to become more perfect versions of ourselves. But perhaps we’ve misunderstood. Perhaps the mistake is in thinking we are meant to arrive somewhere, to achieve something, to finally become something.
What if the real commitment is to allow ourselves to be undone? To recognize that we are always on the cusp of becoming, perpetually in the process of being born? To be committed to life, then, is not to grasp for certainty, not to fix, control, or know, but to remain open—to be surprised and to be touched in meaningful ways.
I invite you to consider the time we have left - the time we are given to live - as a gift not to be used, but to be savored, to be marveled at. It is to enter into relationship with the unknown, not as something to conquer, but as something to dance with. Life, after all, is not a puzzle to be solved—it is a mystery to be lived.
Katrien Franken
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