Is It the King Who’s Naked, or Is It You?

Chasing, achieving, striving to be more—it’s a relentless race, isn’t it? Yet, I rarely stop to ask myself, “Sara, what are you really running toward? What is waiting for you on this path? What are you so desperately preparing yourself for?” These questions hit like a sharp slap, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. And in that stillness, I confront the truth: this frantic pace, this constant motion, serves as a kind of cover for emptiness. But what would happen if I stopped and allowed myself to sit in that emptiness? To just exist without doing, without achieving, without going anywhere—what then?

Always effort, always striving, always doing and being… I’ve been so conditioned to accomplish, to achieve, as if my entire existence depends on it. The idea of stopping, of doing nothing, feels like it would erase me. It’s such a powerful feeling. What would it truly mean to stop? Even in the moments when I think I’m resting, I see my effort, my need to perform, and I whisper to myself, “You fraud.” Then another question arises: “If I withdrew from everything, embraced complete silence, what would I hear? The true voice of my life or just the tricks of my mind?”

In this deception, I see how I’ve judged others, labeled them, even pushed their boundaries. I’ve looked at those who seem idle or unproductive and thought, “They’re not investing in themselves; they’re wasting their time.” But isn’t this the harshest part of myself being reflected outward? Are these judgments simply projections of my own restless dissatisfaction? When I look at others, am I actually seeing the parts of myself that I cannot face?

This ceaseless striving for progress, this hunger for movement and completion, reveals a part of me that fears the simplicity of just “being.” I know this part—it’s the one that tries to heal past wounds by endlessly achieving. But where does this effort really lead? Another question arises: “If I did nothing, achieved nothing, had no plans or ambitions—would I still be lovable?” Perhaps this question is key to understanding my existence. I place it gently on the highest shelf, a marker on my journey.

The more I see how my relationship with my mind traps me, the more I realize the need to pursue simply “being.” As I sit with these questions, another one emerges: “Why do I constantly feel the need to cling to something—success, recognition, acceptance?” I see within me a yearning for security, for love, for belonging. But does love and acceptance really come from proving my worth? The freedom of being enough, just as I am, feels so close, yet just out of reach.

The king is naked! Seeing and speaking the truth in all its nakedness has been my way since childhood. But now I ask myself, “Does pointing out the king’s nakedness help me confront my own? Is it about seeing others’ flaws, or is it about finding the courage to face my own inadequacies?” As a child, I never hesitated to speak the truth, but when that truth turns inward, it becomes so much harder. Perhaps the first step to this honesty is self-love.

Finally, I ask myself one more question: “Are these questions drawing me deeper into myself?” Maybe the answers I’ve been seeking all along lie in the courage to ask these very questions. Maybe that’s why I love questioning so much.

I’m giving myself permission now. Permission to look at every unanswered question with a gentle “I don’t know.” Permission to turn inward instead of searching outside. And in doing so, I’m discovering how liberating it is to let go of the need to control everything. Despite the inner battle, the endless striving, I am beginning a new journey—a journey toward the peace of being enough, exactly as I am.