The explanation arrives afterwards

There was a period where I spent a lot of time trying to explain the work.

Not because I was trying to convince anyone.

It just seemed reasonable.

If something matters, you should be able to explain it.

You should be able to describe what’s happening.

You should be able to make it make sense.

So I wrote about it.

I recorded videos about it.

I tried to find clearer language for things that felt difficult to put into words.

And some of it helped.

But every now and then something else would happen.

Someone would reply to a short piece.

A few sentences.

Sometimes less.

And they wouldn’t say they understood it.

They would say:

“That’s exactly what happened.”

Or:

“I’ve never heard anyone describe that before.”

Or:

“I thought I was the only one.”

The pieces that seemed to reach people most deeply weren’t always the ones that explained the most.

Sometimes they hardly explained anything at all.

They just stayed close to something.

Close enough that someone else could see it too.

The urge to check the phone again.

The moment after the call ends.

The message that never gets sent.

The strange feeling that something important is here, but disappears the second you try to name it.

None of those pieces tell anyone what to do.

They don’t solve anything.

They don’t really teach anything.

And yet something happens.

Not every time.

Not for everyone.

But often enough that it’s difficult to ignore.

Someone sees themselves.

Not as an idea.

Not as a concept.

Just directly.

And for a moment, the need to understand it seems unnecessary.

The explanation arrives afterwards.

If it arrives at all.