The Miracle on the Other Side of Not Knowing

A love letter to mystery, perception, and the life you can’t yet see

This year, I gave myself to a quiet, radical experiment:

I would live into the miraculous.

Not wish for it.

Not hustle for it.

Not bargain with it.

Cause it.

To most people, that might sound impossible. Too esoteric. Too spiritual. Too… unmeasurable.

But for me, it’s become the most grounded, practical way to live.

This isn’t about chasing peak experiences.

This is about surrendering the scaffolding of what I think I know, and walking into the wide-open arms of what I’ve never let myself see.

And this weekend, nestled inside a quiet moment of rest, I picked up A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson — and felt like I’d been handed the next key.

She writes, “A miracle is a shift in perception.”

And I swear something in me exhaled.

Like a whole forest of truth I’d been walking silently through suddenly rustled and said yes, beloved. That’s it.

The miracle isn’t elsewhere. It’s how you see.

There is something so disarming about that definition — and something so profoundly liberating.

I’ve spent years of my life waiting for miracles to arrive.

Waiting for the health diagnosis to reverse, the money to land, the person to return, the circumstance to shift.

But what if the miracle wasn’t in the reversal, but in my revelation?

Not in the outer outcome, but in the inward alchemy?

The shift from fear to love.

From control to trust.

From judgment to compassion.

From separation to wholeness.

From “why is this happening?” to “what is this teaching me?”

These shifts are not passive.

They are the deepest, most courageous acts of creation I’ve known.

They ask us to stop rehearsing our certainty and start listening to the unknown.

To stop fighting reality and begin embracing mystery.

To stop narrating life from our wounds and let our soul speak instead.

The practice is not knowing.

I have discovered that the biggest miracles in my life have not come from more effort or better strategies.

They’ve arrived when I released my grip.

When I let go of needing to be right.

When I dared to walk into the dark hallway between stories.

Because that’s where I could see what I couldn’t see before.

This is why I’ve stopped treating the unknown as an enemy.

The unknown is a sacred terrain — not a void, but a womb.

And the blind spots?

They are portals.

Not weaknesses. Not failures.

But places where light can enter.

Where Grace can surprise me.

Where the Divine, however we name it, has room to move.

The life I live now — I didn’t plan for it.

I opened to it.

I unlearned the scripts.

I walked off the path.

I let go of the timeline.

And what came rushing in was truth.

Wild, unpredictable, holy truth.

The kind of truth that doesn’t always make sense to the mind, but resonates through the body like a bell.

It has brought me a created life. A life of my design — not because I mastered every detail, but because I surrendered to a deeper design that was already alive inside me.

A design that knows:

There are gifts in the unknown.

There are teachers in your pain.

There are miracles in your perception.

There is more possible than you can yet imagine.

Reframing is a sacred act.

To reframe is not to deny pain — it’s to recontextualize it.

To reframe is to tell the truth that’s big enough to hold all of you.

To reframe is to stop being the victim of your story and become its author. Not with force, but with presence.

And when we do that — when we shift — something holy happens.

We meet ourselves again.

We meet life again.

We see what we once judged as broken… as becoming.

We stop asking for proof and start living from trust.

And we see that the miracle wasn’t some prize we earned by being good.

It was always there — waiting for us to remove the veil.

What you call “confusion” might be where your miracle begins.

So if you find yourself in the fog —

If you’ve lost the map —

If you’re holding onto old ways of seeing that no longer fit the shape of your soul —

Take heart.

This is the doorway.

This is the threshold.

You’re not broken.

You’re just being invited to see in a new way.

And when you do —

When perception shifts —

The whole world will echo that change.

You won’t just witness a miracle.

You’ll become one.

Thank you, Marianne Williamson. For being a steward of this remembering.

And thank you, unknown, for always holding more than I can yet imagine.