The Safety You Seek Is Hidden in the Vulnerability You Fear
A few months ago, I stumbled upon a poem by Rumi, and before I even understood why, I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other—
doesn’t make any sense."
I didn’t even know who Rumi was (pardon my ignorance). I kept rereading the words over and over, feeling deeper and deeper awe.
For most of my life, I believed that finding the right answers was the key to security. That if I could just understand how the world worked—what was right, what was wrong, what was true—I could navigate life safely.
And if I’m honest, being right felt like safety. It felt like standing on solid ground, like knowing which way to go, like proof that I wasn’t lost.
But the more I clung to being right, the more I realized:
I wasn’t searching for truth. I was searching for protection.
The Safety We Think Being Right Gives Us
We don’t just argue for our beliefs. We grip them. We defend them. We build entire identities around them.
Because at its core, being right isn’t about truth. It’s about safety.
It protects our identity. If I’m right, I’m competent, I’m good, I’m in control.
It protects our certainty. If I’m right, I know how the world works and what to do.
And that makes sense.
Certainty feels like a shield. Being wrong feels like exposure.
So we double down.
We resist.
We fight to hold our ground.
But here’s the trap: if safety depends on being right, being wrong becomes a threat.
And the moment we start fearing the truth, we stop being able to see it.
Instead of discovering, we defend.
Instead of listening, we prove.
Instead of learning, we lock ourselves in.
We don’t find security in truth—we fight against it.
Truth Sets You Free
If being right is about protection, then letting go of it feels like vulnerability.
And it is.
But here’s the paradox: the vulnerability of truth is the only thing that actually makes you feel safe.
Because when you no longer need to be right, you no longer have to fear being wrong.
You don’t have to grip onto false certainty.
You don’t have to battle reality.
You don’t have to prove yourself just to feel okay.
Instead, you build confidence—not in always being right, but in your ability to handle whatever truth is in front of you.
And that’s what real safety is.
Not control. Not certainty.
Just knowing you can meet truth—whatever it is—and still be okay.
Truth Lives in Vulnerability
I think about that Rumi poem often. The image of a field beyond right and wrong, where truth doesn’t have to be fought over—just met, just understood, just lived.
A place where there is nothing to prove. Nothing to defend. Nothing to argue.
A place where you don’t have to make sense of everything—you can just be.
No winners. No losers. No debates to settle, no sides to choose. Just the quiet, open vastness of reality as it is.
And when we’re willing to be just as open, just as vulnerable—that’s where we land.
So the next time you feel yourself gripping tightly—when you feel the urgency to prove, defend, or resist—pause.
Ask yourself:
Would I rather be right, or would I rather understand what’s actually happening?
Because when safety is no longer tied to being right, you stop fearing what’s real.
And in that openness, you step into the field.
I’ll meet you there.