The Questions We Can't Answer

The truth is, most nights I don't have answers. Only questions.

Would my dad be proud of me? Would I have made different choices if he were still here? Would I be less stuck, less scared?

These are questions without answers. And yet they circle in my head like vultures. That's rumination too—the orbitofrontal cortex spotlighting problems, the amygdala feeding the emotions. A tango of thought and feeling that refuses to stop.

But I've learned something: even unanswerable questions can loosen their grip when I write them down. Journaling, music, or even saying them out loud—all of it interrupts the loop. Gives the neurons something else to do.

Sometimes the point isn't to find answers. Sometimes it's just to stop circling.