“In the interval between stimulus and response, there exists a space. Within that space lies our ability to choose our response.” ~Viktor Frankl
For a considerable period, my first reaction to difficulties was a relentless question: “Why me?”
This inquiry surfaced whenever life deviated from my expectations—when my efforts seemed unrewarded or when situations appeared unjust and overwhelming. I believed that comprehending why would help me rectify matters and regain control, that it would alleviate the distress.
However, it never did.
One specific event reshaped my connection to that question.
I vividly recall a distinct phase.
In 2004, I had just launched my interior design venture. Work was on the rise, projects were in motion, and life felt gratifying despite its hectic pace. Then one morning, I was hit by dizziness, intense headaches, and brief lapses in consciousness. I brushed them off as fatigue, yet they persisted.
After multiple tests, I was diagnosed with BIH, a neurological disorder characterized by elevated brain pressure affecting the optic nerve, posing a risk of permanent blindness. Immediate hospitalization and complete rest were deemed necessary.
I spent ten days in the hospital and underwent six months of steroid therapy. Just when my career was gaining momentum, I was instructed to halt. I had projects, new clients, and obligations I couldn’t overlook.
Feeling overwhelmed in the hospital, I furiously posed the familiar question: “God, why me?”
Desperate for explanations, I turned to karma and sought out therapists and healers for comfort. But more questions emerged. What lesson was meant for me to learn? What had I done to deserve this? The quest for significance complicated matters further.
“Why me?” didn’t assist me in coping—it kept me trapped, fixating on the past, comparing, and silently harboring resentment while awaiting answers that never materialized.
One evening, mentally drained from overanalyzing, as I gazed at the sunset from my hospital window, a new question appeared: What now?
This altered everything. It didn’t eliminate my fears or disappointments, but it provided something tangible to hold onto. I acknowledged my emotions—fear, helplessness, frustration—and then honestly evaluated the situation and took action.
I reached out to clients, explained my reality, coordinated remotely, met with my assistant and contractor at the hospital, and ensured projects continued without jeopardizing my health. I focused on recuperation and accepted my circumstances without resistance.
That marked my initial encounter with the power of “What now?”
Over the years, I revisited that question frequently. When life felt excessive, it anchored me in the present, where action is feasible.
“What now?” doesn’t require grand plans or clarity. It seeks honesty and identifies the next appropriate step with the energy and resources available today. Sometimes the step is practical, at other times emotional, and occasionally it involves refraining from adding further fear to an already challenging situation.
Acceptance is often misunderstood. It’s not about resignation or giving in; it acknowledges reality without squandering energy battling it, allowing for movement.
“What now?” evolved into a grounding practice. On tough days, it helped me stay present while acknowledging difficulties. On better days, it reminded me to act gently and intentionally, rather than waiting for certainty.
“What Now?” Revealed to Me:
- Progress doesn’t rely on having answers.
- Small, honest steps outweigh perfect clarity.
- Acceptance creates space for choices, not passivity.
- Being present can be sufficient.
I still pose the question, “Why me?” during life’s unjust or draining moments. But now I interpret it as a signal, not something to linger on—a sign of fatigue, pain, or a need for compassion. I acknowledge it gently when it arises.
Then, I revert to the question that has continually propelled me forward.
“What now?”
I may never possess all the answers, but I understand that I don’t need them to lead a meaningful life. When confronted with unresolvable questions, responding with one I can engage with has proven sufficient.
Sometimes, that’s all we truly require.