The answer is never obvious. Even the question isn’t always clear.
Sometimes the revelation is one deeper.
Let me give you an example. For years, I thought I was afraid of heights. I once hiked to the top of a very large hill, with a cliff overlooking the ocean. As I climbed higher, I started to get vertigo, or something strange like it, like every cell in my body was raging against the tiny trail and my proximity to the edge and how far down it was. But oddly, the higher I climbed, the freer I felt. So I looked further, and discovered that it wasn’t the height I was afraid of, but falling from heights. And even further: it’s not falling I’m afraid of, it’s breaking at the impact of the fall, the pain, the possible end of everything. And so I had to face not a fear of heights, but a much deeper fear.
I do this exercise often, every time I come up again a fear or hesitation or when I’m looking at what might be holding me back. I do it when I’m trying to understand what I want, what I really want. Because it’s never about the money or success — those thing don’t drive me. It’s always about something deeper, more tender, more raw.
So I keep going deeper. Another step, another level down, chipping away at what layers I must to see the truth of it.