The Art of Discernment

Somewhere along the way, we forgot that there was another option.

Today, everything seems to demand a decision. Pick a side. Agree or disagree. Follow or unfollow. Love it or hate it.

We’ve become so accustomed to sorting the world into right and wrong that we’ve forgotten there is another way to move through it.

Discernment.

I’ve never been particularly interested in collecting answers. I’ve been far more interested in collecting experiences.

Even as a teenager, if someone told me another person wasn’t worth getting to know, I found myself walking toward them instead of away. Not because I wanted to prove anyone wrong. I simply needed to find out for myself.

That instinct has followed me my entire life.

It’s why I can read a book without needing to agree with every chapter. I can appreciate a teacher without believing everything they say. I can find wisdom in traditions that don’t completely align with my own beliefs.

For years, I recommended books to clients. What fascinated me wasn’t whether they liked the book. It was how often they dismissed an entire idea because one part didn’t resonate.

“I didn’t agree with that chapter.”

“I didn’t like the author’s view on this.”

“So the whole book wasn’t for me.”

I’d smile because that’s never been how my mind works.

I’ve always believed you can keep what nourishes you and leave the rest behind.

In fact, I think that’s one of the most overlooked skills we can cultivate.

Discernment isn’t deciding whether something is entirely true or entirely false.

It’s asking:

What is here that I can learn from?

That question changes everything.

It softens certainty.

It makes room for curiosity.

It reminds us that wisdom isn’t usually found at the extremes. More often, it’s discovered in the quiet space between them.

The older I get, the less interested I am in being right.

I’d rather be curious.

I’d rather remain open long enough for life to surprise me.

Because the truth is, I’ve learned something meaningful from people I deeply disagree with.

I’ve found beauty in books I would never fully endorse.

I’ve outgrown beliefs without needing to condemn the people who still hold them.

Maybe that’s what discernment really is.

Not knowing exactly what to believe.

But learning to recognize what rings true within your own experience.

The world will always offer opinions.

Algorithms will tell you what to think.

Experts will confidently explain why they’re right.

Friends will insist they know the answer.

Discernment asks something quieter.

Slow down.

Pay attention.

Listen carefully.

Take what serves you.

Leave what doesn’t.

Then keep walking.

Because becoming isn’t about finding someone else who has all the answers.

It’s about becoming someone who knows how to recognize truth when they encounter it.