Why I Write Essays

Or maybe why good questions have become more interesting to me than perfect answers

I used to think writing meant having something to say. These days, I think it has more to do with having the courage to keep asking better questions.

For a long time, I assumed everyone else had received instructions that somehow skipped me.

Career coaches had frameworks.

Entrepreneurs had blueprints.

Relationship experts had rules.

Wellness influencers had morning routines.

Everyone else seemed to have arrived while I was still wandering around asking questions.

It was deeply unsettling.

Then something unexpected happened.

I started talking to more people.

Really talking to them.

CEOs.

Founders.

Artists.

Doctors.

Writers.

People who looked incredibly certain from the outside.

And, over and over again, I discovered the same thing.

Almost nobody feels as certain as they sound.

They’re experimenting.

Adjusting.

Changing their minds.

Making educated guesses.

Trying things.

Sometimes succeeding.

Sometimes quietly abandoning ideas that no longer fit.

In other words...

they’re living.

Some are simply better at packaging uncertainty than others.

That realization changed something for me.

It also explained why I’ve never been particularly good at writing self-help.

I’m almost always more interested in the question than the answer.

That’s when I realized why I’d become an essayist.

Essays don’t require certainty.

They reward curiosity.

They’re allowed to begin with, “I’ve been wondering...”

They’re allowed to end with, “I’m still thinking about it.”

In fact, I trust people a little more when they occasionally admit they don’t know.

Not because expertise isn’t real.

It absolutely is.

If I need surgery, I’d like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

But life isn’t surgery.

Most of us are making our best decisions with incomplete information, hoping experience catches up with intention.

That’s why certainty has become less interesting to me.

Not because answers are bad.

Because good questions have a much longer shelf life.

The older I get, the less I want a guru.

The more I appreciate a thoughtful companion.

Someone willing to wonder out loud.

Someone who leaves room to change their mind.

That’s what essays have always been for me.

Not a place to teach.

A place to think out loud.

The most honest thing I can say, after all these years, is this:

I’m still figuring it out.

I just no longer mistake that for failure.

All content and concepts ©Meggen Harris. No reproduction without permission.