23/06/2026
The wisest man who ever lived had one problem he couldn’t solve: himself.
They say King Solomon could settle disputes no one else dared touch.
Two mothers claiming the same child.
Brothers divided by inheritance.
Men blinded by pride.
People arrived carrying knots they could no longer untangle, and left with clarity they couldn’t find on their own.
I used to think that was the remarkable part of the story.
Years later, I noticed every town has its own Solomon.
The friend who knows exactly what to say after betrayal.
Who can separate grief from guilt.
Who hears fear beneath anger.
Who can hold another person’s impossible choices at arm’s length and somehow make sense of them.
But then life turns toward them.
The message they were dreading finally arrives.
Love leaves without explanation.
The future splits into roads that all seem wrong.
And the wisdom that guided everyone else falls strangely quiet.
The person who could navigate another’s darkness cannot read their own map.
Logic becomes tangled in longing.
Fear borrows the voice of reason.
Perhaps that’s the part the old stories forgot to mention.
Even the wisest among us struggle to govern the kingdom within.
Psychology gave this contradiction a name centuries later:
Solomon’s Paradox.
The strange sorrow of seeing clearly through everyone else’s storms…
while getting lost in the weather of your own.
How can someone be so wise about everyone else’s life, and so lost in their own?
