Remember when we used to write with BIC ballpoint pens. And when we did it for a long time, that blue ink would show up on the inside of our fingers where we held the pen. At least, that’s how it worked for me. I used to call those Inklings.
But that isn’t what an inkling is at all. Instead. I bring you this wonderful definition:
Inkling (noun): a slight knowledge or vague notion; a hint or suggestion.
That’s it. That’s the whole kaboodle. The word sounds so small. But at the same time, it is very large in its meaning.
There’s nothing absolutely certain about an inkling. It’s definitely not proof.
Instead? An inkling is like a faint sense that something exists just beyond what we know. It is like someone, or something, is tapping us on our shoulders and trying to whisper in our ears. Maybe it is a tiny clue. Or a little nudge from beyond, telling us to look a little closer at something.
I sure do love a good inkling. But here is the thing. We tend to overlook inklings because they feel a tiny bit incomplete. Or maybe a little mysterious, or something. And many times, we don’t want to quite trust what we are feeling.
But almost always, those things that are meaningful begin this way. Because before we have understanding and clarity, we have to have at least a little bit of curiosity.
Before we truly experience knowing, there is that tiny awareness that we don’t know. But it is enough to get our attention.
Inklings are great because they don’t really force us into doing anything. Instead, that little tiny inkling we might be having gives us a good reason to stop and notice. It nudges us to look again. To pay attention.
Just to notice.
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“Trust yourself. You know more than you think you do.” — Benjamin Spock
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“Intuition is seeing with the soul.” — Dean Koontz
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“Curiosity is the wick in the candle of learning.” — William Arthur Ward
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“Your intuition knows what to do.” — Louise Hay
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“Listen closely. Quiet things speak.” — Mark Winston
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