Learning to Be Human

An Inquiry into Validation, Criticism, and the Meaning of Self-Expression

I am a singer, a dancer, a poet, a storyteller, a portrait painter, an artist, a counsellor, a coach, a listener, a teacher, an educator, and even a cook. Over the years, I have explored many skills, learning each of them with curiosity and commitment. Every new form of expression felt like a door opening to a wider world. Yet, despite learning so much, I often felt that I had not truly excelled in any one of them. More importantly, a deep sense of fulfilment seemed to remain just out of reach.

Why was that so?

This question quietly followed me for a long time. On the surface, everything appeared meaningful. I was learning, performing, expressing, and receiving appreciation from others. But beneath these experiences, there was a subtle restlessness within me that I could not ignore.

What was I truly searching for?

When I began to look within with honesty, a gentle but uncomfortable realisation emerged. Had I learned so many things purely out of love for them, or had I been trying, perhaps unknowingly, to prove my worth to the people who mattered to me? Was my learning an expression of who I truly was, or was it an effort to be seen, accepted, and valued?

If learning becomes a way of proving ourselves, can it ever fully nourish our hearts?

Another pattern slowly revealed itself. After every performance I gave, people often appreciated my work. They encouraged me and acknowledged my efforts with warmth. Yet, even in those moments of recognition, I noticed a quiet emptiness lingering within.

Why did appreciation not feel complete?

Why did I continue to look outward for validation?

And why did even a small criticism feel so heavy?

These questions became especially vivid when I was learning to communicate in English. My friends, with good intentions, tried to help me improve by correcting my accent and guiding my speech. Their suggestions were meant to support my growth. Yet I rarely received them with ease. Instead of feeling grateful, I often felt wounded.

Why did correction feel like humiliation?

Why did guidance feel like rejection?

Whenever someone pointed out my mistakes, a defensive voice rose within me. I found myself justifying my actions, protecting my image, and resisting what was being said. I realised that I was not truly listening; I was only guarding myself.

Over time, I began to see how this habit quietly built invisible walls around me. When we constantly defend ourselves, we lose the ability to hear what others are offering. And when we stop listening, relationships slowly lose their openness and warmth.

Could this be one of the reasons it sometimes felt difficult to form new friendships?

There were moments when this awareness made me feel deeply alone. Yet, rather than escaping from that loneliness, I slowly began to sit with it. I allowed myself to experience it without rushing away.

What if loneliness was not merely an absence, but an invitation?

What if it was asking me to meet myself more truthfully?

During that time, I began spending more quiet moments with myself. I continued learning new things, but my intention slowly shifted. I was no longer learning only to prove something to the world. Instead, I was exploring what helped me become more expressive, more aware, and more compassionate toward myself and others.

In the midst of these reflections, my trainer, Suman, once shared a thought that stayed with me deeply. It gently challenged the way I had been thinking about growth and success.

Is life only about learning skills, practising them, and waiting for opportunities to demonstrate our potential?

Or is something more profound unfolding within us during this journey?

Perhaps learning is not merely preparation for a stage, a profession, or recognition. Perhaps it is also a path of self-discovery. Through learning, we begin to encounter not only our talents but also our fears, our insecurities, and the tender places within us that seek acceptance.

What happens when we begin to welcome both our strengths and our limitations?

Can acceptance become a doorway to inner freedom?

When we stop resisting parts of ourselves and begin to understand them with kindness, something within us softens. Growth then becomes less about proving perfection and more about deepening awareness.

This understanding also transforms the way we receive criticism.

What if criticism is not always an attack on our identity? What if, at times, it is simply a mirror that helps us see what we could not see before?

When we learn to receive feedback with grace rather than resistance, we allow learning to continue. Compassion toward ourselves gives us the courage to listen without feeling diminished.

Another question naturally arises.

Why do we try so hard to control how others respond to us?

We often hope that people will recognise our efforts, appreciate our intentions, and speak to us with sensitivity. Yet life rarely unfolds exactly as we expect. When our expectations are not met, disappointment easily enters our hearts.

But is it possible that the more we try to control others, the more power we lose over our own emotional balance?

If our peace depends entirely on others' approval, we unknowingly place our happiness in their hands.

Perhaps true strength lies somewhere deeper.

Perhaps it lies in learning to face what we do not like without escaping through anger, fear, or guilt. When we stand before life's challenges with honesty and patience, we discover a quiet resilience growing within us.

Gradually, the journey of learning life begins to feel much larger than mastering talents or gathering achievements. It becomes preparation for living with awareness.

It prepares us to handle success, recognition, money, fulfilment, and even abundance with maturity and balance. Without inner clarity, these experiences can easily overwhelm us.

If success arrives before self-understanding, can it truly bring peace?

Life seems to offer moments that reveal our inner landscape. Every experience becomes a mirror reflecting where we stand within ourselves. Are we acting from insecurity, or from understanding? From the need for approval, or from the joy of expression?

Slowly, another realisation begins to unfold.

Life may not be only about excelling in something, building a career, or contributing to society in familiar ways.

Perhaps life is first an opportunity to learn how to be human.

To accept ourselves with honesty while remaining open to growth. To recognise that every person who enters our lives — friends, teachers, critics, and even strangers — contributes something to our understanding.

When we begin to see life in this way, gratitude gently enters our hearts.

And then another question arises.

If so many people have contributed to who we are today, what might be our own contribution in return?

Perhaps our talents, reflections, and experiences slowly guide us toward that answer. Our journey itself becomes a source of insight that we can share with fellow human beings.

Maybe life is not merely a race toward success, but a living inquiry into meaning. Through that inquiry, we discover a different kind of freedom — the freedom to express ourselves truthfully.

In that truthful expression, service, love, and integrity begin to flow naturally.

If life is indeed an opportunity, perhaps its deepest invitation is this: to understand ourselves with compassion, to honour the contributions of others with gratitude, and to offer our own presence to the world with sincerity.

And perhaps, somewhere along this gentle path of inquiry, fulfilment quietly takes root within our hearts.