On Truth: Beyond Being Right

I want to say something, clearly and simply:

I do not write or speak from “truth.”

Not with a capital T.

Not as some final word or ultimate authority.

What I share here, in my blogs, in my coaching, in all the conversations of my life—these are perspectives. Ideas. Thoughts I’ve gathered through living this one, vast, intricate life.

They are offerings.

Not answers.

And I offer them not so you’ll adopt them as your own, but so you might try them on.

See how they sit.

Notice whether they open something for you—or not.

See whether they offer more freedom, more authenticity, more resonance with who you are.

If they do, beautiful. If they don’t, leave them. No harm done.

There’s a real danger in the world right now in how we hold “truth.”

We speak of it like it's a weapon.

We wield it to win arguments. To divide people into those who are right and those who are wrong.

We use it to judge. To silence.

To be “righteous” about our pain or our beliefs or our causes.

The notion of Big-T Truth—one singular, unmovable, universal truth—has done a lot of damage.

Because even when we think we’re fighting for something noble or just, we can become blind.

We can lose our humility.

We stop listening.

We forget that other people’s truths—born from their lived experiences, their traumas, their cultures, their bodies—are also valid.

And here’s the thing:

For reconciliation to truly happen—between people, communities, cultures, even within ourselves—we have to be willing to get each other’s truths.

Not agree. Not fix.

Just get them.

Let them exist without trying to make them wrong.

There is deep medicine in simply being seen.

In someone saying:“I hear you. I may not have lived it, but I believe that was your experience.”

Before there can be healing, there must be getting.

And before there can be getting, we have to loosen our grip on being “right.”

What becomes possible when we stop needing to be the one who knows?

What might open if we let go of the truths we inherited, the ones that told us who we should be, how the world should work, who’s good and who’s bad?

What relationships could be healed?

What parts of ourselves could finally breathe?

Because truth—if such a thing even exists—might not be a fixed point on a map.

It might be something that lives in the space between us.

Something relational, alive, fluid.

Something that asks us to listen more than we speak.

So no, I don’t write these blogs as a teacher standing on a mountaintop.

I write them as a fellow traveler.

I share what’s come through me in case it serves something in you.

But always, always—you decide what’s true for you.

And maybe that’s the most powerful kind of truth there is.

The one you choose.

The one that sets you free.