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“There is a space between the stimulus and the response. It is in this space that we have the power to choose how to respond.” ~ Viktor Frankl
For a long time, my first response to difficulties was a single, painful question: “Why me?”
It arose when life took an unexpected turn—when plans fell apart, when effort failed to materialize, when circumstances seemed unfair and overwhelming. I believed it if I could understand it Why something happens, I would somehow resolve the situation and regain control. So that the answer softens the blow.
But he never did.
One experience in particular changed my relationship with this question.
I remember such a phase very clearly.
I started my interior design practice in 2004. Work picked up, projects were active, and life, while hectic, seemed rewarding. Then one morning I woke up dizzy, with a severe headache and short blackouts. I dismissed it as exhaustion. But the symptoms continued.
After many tests, I was diagnosed with a condition called BIH – a neurological disorder characterized by high pressure in the brain that compresses the optic nerve. If left untreated, it can lead to permanent blindness. I needed immediate hospital treatment and complete rest.
I was admitted for ten days of treatment, and then I took steroids for six months. At the time when my career was just starting, they told me to stop. I had active projects, new clients, tasks that I couldn’t just leave.
One day in the hospital, depressed and angry, I found myself shouting the familiar question, “God, why me?”
I tried to find answers. In fact, I was quite in despair. I turned to ideas like karma and talked to a few therapists and healers, hoping they might offer some perspective or comfort. Instead, additional layers of questioning were added. One explanation led to another. What lesson should I have learned? What did I do to deserve this? Instead of helping, the search for meaning only made things more difficult and complicated.
What I didn’t understand at the time was, “Why me?” it didn’t help me cope; on the contrary, it stuck. It drew my attention back to comparison and quiet resentment, leaving me to wait for answers that never came.
One night, as I lay in my hospital bed, exhausted from overthinking, watching the sunset from my bedroom window, something moved. I felt the fog lift around me and another question quietly emerged: What now?
That question changed everything. It didn’t erase my fear or frustration, but it gave me something solid to hold on to. I allowed myself to feel what I felt—fearful, helpless, frustrated—and then took an honest assessment of the situation and took action.
I called my clients and explained the reality. I coordinated remotely, asked my assistant and contractor to meet me at the hospital to clarify the details, and ensured that the work continued without jeopardizing my health. I rested, focused on healing, and accepted that I had to move through this situation, not fight it.
It was my first real experience of “What now?”
I have come back to this question many times over the years. When life seems stagnant or overwhelming, it brings you back to the only place where you can really do something—the present moment.
“Now what?” it does not require grand plans or perfect clarity. He asks for honesty. It asks what is the next right step given the energy and resources available today. Some days this step is practical. Some days it’s emotional. And some days you simply decide not to add more fear to an already difficult situation.
I have learned that acceptance is often misunderstood. This is not a waiver. This is not giving up. One must recognize what fights reality without wasting energy. From there, movement becomes possible.
Over the years“Now what?” it became a foundational practice rather than a solution. On difficult days, it helped me stay present without denying how hard things felt. On better days, it reminded me to act gently and intentionally rather than waiting for certainty.
He asks, “Now what?” He taught me:
- I don’t need answers to move on.
- Small, honest steps matter more than perfect cleanliness.
- Acceptance gives room for choice, not passivity.
- Being present is often enough.
I still find myself asking:why me” when life seems unfair or exhausting. But now I recognize it as a sign—not something I should consume. A sign that I’m tired, or in pain, or in need of sympathy. When that happens, I don’t argue with the question. I gently acknowledge it.
And then I return to the question that has helped me move forward again and again.
“Now what?“
I may never have all the answers. But I’ve learned that I don’t need them to live meaningfully. When life throws up questions I can’t solve, it’s enough to answer with a question I can.
Sometimes that’s all we really need.
About Aruna Joshi
Aruna Joshi is the author of four books, an advocate for emotional wellness, and the voice of Zen Whispers, a blog for deeply emotional souls seeking gentleness, truth, and clarity. Through personal stories and gentle reflections, she helps readers feel less alone with their inner struggles. You can find it at thezenwhispers.substack.com.
