Inquisitive.me

There’s a story I stumbled upon recently, one that has been sitting with me ever since.

A monk took his small boat onto a quiet lake to meditate. He paddled to the center, tied the boat loosely, and closed his eyes. The world hushed. His breath slowed. Stillness surrounded him.
Then — bang.
Something hit the side of his boat. Irritation flickered. Who would crash into me like this? Can’t they see I’m meditating? His anger swelled, words of scolding already forming.
He opened his eyes, ready to speak — and paused.
The boat beside him was empty. No careless stranger. No malicious intent. Just a vessel drifting freely on the water.
His anger melted away.
The impact hadn’t upset him — the story he imagined behind it had.

How often do we experience the same thing?

We get bumped — by people, by life, by circumstances — and instead of seeing an empty boat, we fill it with assumptions. We assign intent. We take things personally that were never personal.

I’ve been there. Many times.

A small collision happens, and suddenly my peace is gone — derailed by a narrative I built myself.

When your colleague doesn’t invite you to her birthday party, it doesn’t automatically mean she doesn’t like you. Maybe she just wanted something intimate with her closest friends.

Empty boat.

When your friend doesn’t reply for two days, it doesn’t mean they’re mad at you. Maybe life got busy. Maybe they saw the message while opening the fridge and forgot.

Empty boat.

When someone snatches the parking spot you were waiting for — maybe they didn’t even notice your turn signal.

Empty boat.

When a driver cuts you off, maybe they’re lost in thought, dealing with something heavy, or simply distracted — not out to risk your life or theirs.

Empty boat.

Most of the time, people are not plotting against us. They’re navigating their own waves, just like we are.

Epictetus said it well:

It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.

We can’t control every bump. We can’t control overlooked invitations, delayed replies, or strangers on the road. But we can choose our response. We can pause before adding meaning where there may be none.

This perspective — the empty boat — has made me calmer.

I spiral less.

I assume less.

I let go faster.

Not because life stopped sending collisions, but because I stopped holding on to every one of them like proof of something personal.

I wasn’t always like this. It took practice. Reflection. A few messy reactions and a lot of self-awareness to realize that most boats are empty, and the impact is just life brushing up against me.

And honestly? It’s freeing.

But like anything worth learning, it begins with small moments — tiny pauses, gentle shifts in how we see what bumps into us.

🧪 Let’s Experiment

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Not every collision is personal —
sometimes you’re just bumping into an empty boat.

So what if we trained ourselves to pause before reacting, to question the story instead of absorbing it?

🎯 Try This:

The next time something (or someone) collides with your peace — a driver cuts you off, a message goes unanswered, a comment lands wrong — notice the first spark of irritation.

Instead of feeding it, take one slow breath.

Then ask yourself:

Am I getting angry at an empty boat?

If the answer might be yes, try to give the benefit of the doubt — even if only for a moment.

You might be surprised how quickly frustration loosens its grip.

🧠 Final Thought:

Peace rarely comes from calm waters alone. It comes from the way we steady ourselves when the waves hit — with curiosity over assumption, with perspective over reaction. And maybe, just maybe, most boats floating toward us are empty after all.

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Keep it simple, stay curious, and keep learning—you’ve got this.

Take care,

Carina 🦊