Trust Your Intuition: The Voice of Knowing

Wow! 10 days in and already so much has happened, and I’m learning so much about myself. I’m currently broken down on the coast… BUT, it was the best thing that could’ve happened at the time.

It gave me an opportunity to spend more time with a friend I haven’t seen in 15 years, and now we’re traveling together down the coast to meet up with our trio from high school. I’m having such a great time! Sure, I had only intended to say hi—but this is soooo much better.

I’ve been wanting to share the full week’s adventures within one blog post, but it’s proving to be difficult. Yet, it’s a good problem… abundance.

I’ve already been having such deep discoveries and conversations—within myself and with others—that it makes sharing complicated.

I’m a self-diagnosed “lifer” when it comes to learning, and the world is my univers-ity. 😂 Get it?

So I’m going to share the greater details later, when they fit the moments they’re meant to be revealed. For now, I want to share the most abundant lesson I’ve gained along this week’s path: Trust your intuition.

Not that this is a new concept for me—but this week, it was strengthened.

So… what is intuition?

Some might even call it instinct, especially when it comes to our wild side.

It’s our gut feelings or hunches. But let me take it a step further and call it our knowing.

Our understanding of things without conscious reasoning.

The truth that didn’t need to be learned—it was born in us.

That inclination, tendency, or innate feeling to act, do, or create.

I know you’ve experienced it.

If in no other time, at least in those moments when you second-guessed your first choice… only to realize later, you were right the first time.

I’ve been creating space in my life to be aware of it—and to follow it.

That inner voice, often referred to as “the still small voice.”

The one we so often ignore—either because we don’t feel we’re good or smart enough to trust it, or because we’re too busy listening to the louder voices in our lives.

Regardless, it’s there, and it always wants to help.

Ironically, it’s the very voice the religion I grew up in taught me to recognize and follow… and it was that same voice that eventually turned me away from their beliefs.

It’s a truth-seeker, with integrity—in my experience.

But that’s a story for another day.

This week, it showed up in many forms—when I was searching for direction, and in moments of struggle. It was my constant companion, whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not. And there were definitely times I didn’t heed its warnings or nudges… only to face those moments with remorse. Kicking myself for not listening.

I’ve gotten out of practice—after years of “following the rules,” the guidelines, and other people’s agendas. The noise of life felt more important at the time.

Too worried about what others might need or think to really listen and understand it.

As is implied above, it doesn’t shout.

It doesn’t beg you to listen.

It waits—with unconditional love and understanding.

Patiently guiding, with no agenda but you.

You just have to choose to listen.

Back to this week…

I’d encountered delay after delay—obstructions, construction, detours, rain, traffic, and more.

I didn’t have actual plans beyond a few desired places to explore, so I wasn’t too stressed at first.

But then frustration crept in…

I didn’t have the right passes.

There were too many people.

I’m too tall for my space in the car.

Everything’s getting wet.

You get the picture.

I was fighting myself.

One particular morning, I woke up so cranky I had to stop and ask:

Why am I doing this to myself?

The answer came to me softly:

Because you know you wanted this—for a reason.

And it was right.

I wanted freedom.

Freedom to meet the world on my own terms.

And here I was—wasting it with my attitude and mindset.

So, I changed my socks and shoes for dry ones, grabbed my warmer coat, threw on a stocking hat, and forged forward into the morning.

Down a trail to the shore, alongside a full creek, with birds whistling back and forth to each other.

I had decided to start noticing the freedom I was using to be there.

To find the pieces of joy I thought weren’t going to come.

And you know what happened?

The rain lightened.

The skies cleared.

And just for that morning—the sun showed up on the waves in front of me.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get better, I turned around at the bottom of the trail—only to be greeted by memories.

I hadn’t remembered being there before, until that moment…

When I saw the bridge I had come down from, from my new vantage point on top of a rock.

It was such a gift. I nearly cried.

I remembered my parents standing on that bridge, calling for me to come back off this very same rock—for fear I’d fall in, as the tide was high and rough that day… just like it was in that moment.

Then I remembered playing in the creek under the bridge instead, and even some of what I was thinking at the time. I don’t remember how old I was—but I remember my adventurous spirit.

The one I needed to regain to keep myself grounded on this journey.

Oh, it was truly a gift—to feel such fondness after feeling so overwhelmed.

That was the turning point…

The moment I found my inner light once more.

That doesn’t mean it didn’t waver after that—but now it was so much easier to remember.

The rest of the day brought more moments of memory.

Trips long forgotten, now part of this new adventure.

It felt more like coming home rather than stepping into some strange land of ancient mysteries.

Once I found that peace, it grew within me.

More delays came—but this time, I accepted them.

I understood they were there for a reason, instead of fighting them.

Signs and roads seemed to pull me to “linger longer” in places I had already passed several times.

Twice in the dark. Thrice in the daylight.

Sending me in circles… but each time I passed, I noticed something new. Something different.

And then, I came to the border of the state I had been longing for—not just a symbol of personal freedom, but a place where I had truly lived, a whole lifetime ago.

I was eager to cross the bridge into this realm—only to be met by fog.

I knew the land was there… but from this vantage point, it was shrouded in mystery.

Something told me the timing wasn’t right, so I stayed on the clear side, wondering what I was waiting for.

Then I heard it…

Low, strong, and comforting.

The foghorn had been switched on, and my heart melted.

It was the one sound I had dreamed of hearing again to fall asleep to—and I was going to experience it in just that way.

A lullaby from my childhood.

And for the first time in years—I dreamed that night.

It reminded me that I still could.

And I have dreamed since.

The next morning, it was still foggy. I didn’t want to get out of bed—which is unusual for me. Normally I’m desperate to escape the confined space. But in this moment, at a place Lewis and Clark named “Dismal Nitch,” I didn’t want to leave.

Even for the shores of my home state.

So I took my time, with no hurry in my actions.

I’m telling you… foghorns are my comfort. Always have been.

They bid you to slow down, relax, and stay put.

But I could only stay so long before I was pulled forward—across the bridge and into the fog.

The road unfolding foot by foot as I went.

It was a lesson too:

You don’t have to see the whole forest—just the trees in front of you.

Then I turned a corner—and all of a sudden, there were elk just laying down by the road. I watched the last two settle down to rest. What a rare sight.

My first thought was—would I have seen this if I hadn’t listened to my intuition?

Who’s to say.

But they were there for me to witness now.

Along the road to a favorite beach—the “shipwreck” beach, as I call it.

Another place full of memories with family and friends.

Which brings me to where I was left stranded on the coast.

I won’t share the full story here… but I will share the messages I listened to that helped keep me safe.

For years, I’ve tried to figure out why my car made noise when I applied the brakes.

I took it in to so many different automotive places, only to be dismissed:

“It’s just dust.”

Even though I explained it had been happening far too long for that to be the case.

Eventually, I resigned myself to believing them. And the noise embarrassingly continued.

But all along, I was being nudged—that something wasn’t right.

And the feeling got stronger each day.

Still, I felt I had to wait. The timing… the place… had to be just right.

After celebrating my entry into an area closer to home, the fog lifted and the sun came out.

Then the voice returned:

“It’s time. Try one more place.”

So I did.

I pulled into a tire shop. It was a slow day. The man there seemed almost excited to take on the challenge. He jumped in my car, took just a few moments in the parking lot to hear the issue, then pulled it in.

Lucky for me—he had experience beyond just tires and brakes.

He went above and beyond his normal job… and looked deeper.

I could see on his face that the news wasn’t going to be great.

Turns out—I was about to lose my engine.

Just a few more rough miles… or another sudden stop in traffic… and it would’ve been devastating.

He sent me to a reputable mechanic who took me in with understanding and kindness.

And all because I finally listened—even though my brain was saying:

“They always say it’s dust.”

Though the news of a major repair upset me in the moment…

I see now—it was actually a favor.

It took me two days to accept it.

But once I did—and listened again to that voice—I found the greatest gift: Time.