Is this all there is? If that question keeps visiting you, it is not a fault. It might be the most important one you have asked.
I was young, flat on my back, with four TV channels I could see in a little mirror and nothing else to do but think. Two questions arrived and they have never fully left. Life looks fine from outside, so you feel guilty for asking, and you tell yourself you are being ungrateful. Carl Jung said the first half of life builds the ego and your place in the world, and the second half turns inward. The question did not lead me to despair. It turned into a window. When you think you know, the world shrinks.
One thing to try: Next time the question visits, do not answer it. Look at one thing as though you had never seen it before.
In this episode
(1:24) That question is not a sign something is wrong
(2:30) Four channels, seen in a little mirror
(4:19) I should have been having fun. I had these instead
(5:32) Feeling guilty for even thinking it
(7:38) Carl Jung on the two halves of a life
(11:36) It stopped being a wall and became a window
(13:11) The girl in the caravan, seeing it for the first time
(13:45) Beginner's mind has many possibilities
(18:55) Not just a wave. That wave
(21:32) Reaching for depth, not for more stuff
With gratitude to
Angie, Helen, Sujata, Suzanne, Lorna, Liz, Daphne, Sarah, Mikey and Jen, and the monthly ones, Joe, Audra, Sin, Jack, Glenn, Barb and Venetia
Support the podcast and join the Weekly Calm: stevenwebb.uk
Thank you for listening.
Steven
The question this answers
Is this all there is?
If that question keeps visiting you, nothing has gone wrong. It might be the most important one you have ever asked.
I met it at eighteen, flat on my back with a broken neck. I could not move my arms. I could not feel anything below my neck. Fifteen pounds of weight hung off the top of my head and I had a tracheotomy, so I could not speak. One tut for yes, two for no. Four television channels I could see in a small mirror. Nothing to do but think.
Two questions turned up and neither has entirely left. Who am I? And, is this it?
The heart of it
The question mostly arrives when life looks fine. That is what makes it so confusing, and why you feel guilty for asking.
Not knowing is not a wall. It is a window, and the name of it is wonder.
Of the two questions, who am I felt like the deep one. Is this it felt selfish and shallow, and it turned out to be the deeper of the two by a mile.
Carl Jung had the shape of it. The first half of life builds the ego and your place in the world. The second half turns inward. The question lives in the gap between the two, which is why it so often arrives in midlife, when the forward momentum finally slows enough for you to look round.
Follow it honestly and it does not lead to despair. It leads to the fact that we do not know. We do not know if we are alone out here. We do not know what consciousness is. We have not answered a single one of the fundamental questions.
Rumi put it in six words that I think beat most books.
Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment.
Rumi
And Shunryu Suzuki said that in beginner's mind there are many possibilities, and in the expert's there are few.
When you think you know, the world shrinks.
We are sensing the universe through a pinhole. Our eyes catch a sliver of the light that exists and our ears a fraction of the sound, and we walk about as though we have the whole picture.
I was at the Headland Hotel a few weeks ago and said, look at that wave. That wave will never happen again. Not like that. And you were here to see it.
One small thing to try
Next time the question visits, do not answer it and do not push it away.
Go outside or look out of a window and pick one thing. A tree, a cloud, a bird. Look at it as though you had never seen it, because in a real sense you have not. This exact arrangement of light has never happened before and will not happen again.
The question was never really is this all there is. The question was always, am I paying attention?
Questions people ask
Does asking this mean I am ungrateful?
No. It usually arrives precisely because things are fine, which is why the guilt comes with it. You can be grateful for everything and still feel the ache.
Is it a midlife crisis?
I would not call it that. It is a transition, and the discomfort is the point at which something turns inward rather than breaks.
What about God and the afterlife?
I do not know, and neither does anybody else, however confidently they say it. Whatever you believe happens next, the invitation is the same. Be here now.
Read along
The transcript
It follows the audio. Press any line to jump there.
purpose · present-moment · spiritual-journey
Read the transcript
Hello, and welcome to Stillness in the Storms. I'm Steven Webb, and I want you to imagine something, just for
a moment.
A butterfly lands on a railing just in front of you, and its wings are impossibly detailed.
The colours you didn't even know existed. And it's just. It just sits there.
Still.
And for a second, everything else disappears.
When was the last time that that happened to you?
When was the last time something ordinary stopped you in your tracks and made you feel like you're seeing the
world for the very first time?
Because today we're talking about a question that I think almost everyone has felt, but very few people say out
loud. It usually shows up late at night or in the car on the way home or in the middle
of a particularly,
I don't know, perfectly fine Tuesday. And it whispers, is this all there is?
If you've ever thought that. And everything you've done in life and everything you've built, everything you've achieved but there's
that quiet ache underneath it all. This episode is for you. And
I want to tell you something. Right from the start, that question is not a sign that something's wrong with
you. It might actually be one of the most important questions you've ever asked.
So let me take you back to my hospital bed. I was 18 years old and I just broke my
neck. And I was lying in bed completely unable to move. At that time, I could not even move my
arms.
I couldn't feel any of my body below my neck. And I had 15 pounds of weight hanging off the
top of my head. I had a tracheotomy, so I couldn't even speak out loud. The only communication I would
have is the way I would look at a nurse or whoever was helping me. And I would do one
tut for yes and two tuts for no. And
when you're in a situation like that, you
have a lot of time to think. And I mean a lot of time to think. I was either sleeping
or thinking or just really trying to work out life.
There's no phone to scroll. This was so long ago I had There was very little I could do you
had the four channels on Tv that I could see in a little mirror.
So there was a lot of time to think about. And it's just you and your thoughts. And two questions
started rattling around in my mind, going around and around and around. And the first one was, who am I?
Who am I lying here? Who am I in the bigger picture of things? And the second was, is
this it? What if this is it not Just on the basis of being paralysed. Is this it? I'm gonna
spend the rest of my life in bed, but is this the whole of life?
Now that who am I? Question felt quite profound. It felt deep and philosophical and quite important.
But is this it? That one was almost embarrassing because it felt like I was selfish. It
seemed shallow And is this all there is? Is this all that I am? Is this
really what life comes down to? And those questions wouldn't leave me alone, so they kept circling.
And
is this it for humanity? Is this that the planet? Is this the universe? Just it? What is there beyond
the universe? What is there before the universe? All these questions. Did we really evolved from nothing?
Is there a God? If there's a God, why am I lying here? All these really deep questions just kept
rattling around. And given the fact that I was 17, I should have been out getting drunk. I should have
been having fun. I should have been planning my material life. I was stuck with these deep questions. And
those two questions, they don't haunt me today, but they're still there. And the fact that they're still there
means that they're decent questions. They're good questions. And I'll come back to what I discovered. But
first, let's talk about why this question visits so many of us. And especially, I think, especially in midlife.
So here's the thing with Is this all there is? It tends to arrive at the most inconvenient
times. Not so much when your life is falling apart because you're busy just trying to keep things together. Nope.
This question sneaks in when things normally are fine. You've already raised your family, you've done all the things, and
you've lined up half of your ducks, so you're doing better than you thought you would. And that's what makes
it so confusing, I think. And because on paper, everything is fine, maybe even good. But inside, there's
that quiet restlessness, a sense of something is missing. And because life looks fine on the
outside, you feel almost guilty for even thinking it. You might even tell yourself, which I I do as well.
Now, I've been ungrateful. You're being ungrateful. Thinking you might push the feeling away and get on with your day.
You might even look at other people are going through and think, what right do I have to feel this
way? So if you're feeling this question right now, or you have done the last few weeks, I want you
to hear what I'm going to say something really clearly. You are not ungrateful. You're not Broken. You are not
having some kind of crisis. You are asking the question that I think human beings have asked for thousands of
years. Philosophers, monks, poets, scientists I'm crazy people, everybody. I think this question is as
old as consciousness itself. And the fact that you're asking it means something is waking up inside of you, perhaps,
or something is not shutting down. I
really think when you're younger, you're building, you're climbing, you're collecting, you're building your career and your
relationships, your home, your children, you've always got something that your promotion, there's something you're working
towards next. And there's always a goal, there's always a milestone, even if it's just to have a break, there's
always something around the corner that you're looking forward to. And that forward momentum carries us for so many years.
And that's fine. That's kind of what we do, that's what humans do. But
somewhere around midlife or something starts to shift. The kids grow up the career plateaus or
changes, the body starts to remind you that it won't do this forever. And then suddenly the forward momentum just
slows right down and just enough for you to look around and ask what is this really all there is?
What
is this all for? Carl young talked about this so adequately and he said about the first half of life
is about building the ego, building in your place in the world, but the second half is about turning inward.
It's about meaning, it's about the soul, if
you want to use that word or what whatever word you want to call it, that's something inside. And the
transition between those two halves. That's where this question is. Is this it?
It's not a crisis. I just think. I think it's an invitation and
At this point, I just want a pause and say something important. This podcast has no adverts, there's no sponsors
nobody's paying me to sell you anything. The only reason I can keep doing this is because stillness in the
storms and inner peace meditations exist because of kind people that treat me to a coffee. Those small
donations pay for everything, so they keep the podcast going. So thank you so much to all of them. So
a huge heartfelt thank you this week for this episode goes to