Even a Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut: The Day I Stopped Being Blind

Whenever I was lost. Whenever I was unsure. Whenever I doubted myself or didn’t know what to do next. At some point in the conversation, my dad would give the following advice: “Even a blind squirrel finds a nut.” He’d say it with this gentle smile, like he was offering me comfort. Reassurance. Like he was telling me: Don’t worry. Things will work out. You’ll stumble into the right answer eventually.

And for years (decades, really), I held on to that phrase like a mantra. When I didn’t get the job I wanted, when a relationship fell apart, when I felt completely lost about what direction my life should take, I’d repeat it to myself. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut. A small reminder that even when you can’t see where you’re going, even when you’re fumbling in the dark, you might accidentally land on something good.

Recently, though, something shifted. I was going through a particularly difficult transition. The kind where nothing feels certain and every decision feels enormous. As always, my dad’s words rang in my ears, but this time I caught myself, and I stopped. I am not a blind squirrel anymore.

My eyes are open. I have skills. I have tools. I have years of experience, hard-won wisdom, and capabilities I’ve built deliberately. I have a vision for my company and myself. I am living each day with intention and strategy. If a blind squirrel, stumbling around, relying entirely on chance, can find a nut, then I, with all of this awareness and ability, can achieve so much more than just one accidental nut. I can build an entire damn forest.

The Comfort That Carried Me

Let me be clear: my dad’s phrase was a gift. It was comfort when I desperately needed it. It was hope when I felt hopeless. It was permission to not have all the answers, to not be perfect, to trust that even when I couldn’t see the whole path, I could take the next step.

In my early twenties, drowning in uncertainty about my career, wondering if I’d made all the wrong choices, that phrase held me together. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut. Things would work out somehow. I just had to keep going. In my thirties, navigating heartbreak and wondering if I’d ever find the right relationship, that phrase whispered hope when I wanted to give up. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut. Love would find me eventually.

Through every transition, every moment of self-doubt, every time I felt completely lost, my dad’s words were there. A gentle reminder that I didn’t have to see the whole picture. That stumbling was okay. That finding my way didn’t have to be graceful or certain. And you know what? He was right. I did find my way. Every single time.

I found jobs that challenged me and helped me grow. I found relationships that taught me about love and myself. I found communities that held me. I found a purpose that lit me up from the inside. The blind squirrel kept finding nuts. And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, something changed.

I wasn’t just stumbling anymore. I was learning. Growing. Building skills, awareness, and judgment. Developing intuition. Trusting my instincts. My eyes were opening. And I didn’t even notice.

The Moment I Saw Myself Clearly

The realization came while camping. Sitting by the fire, journal in hand. I was reflecting on a big decision I was facing. A career opportunity that felt both exciting and terrifying. I wanted it, but I was scared I wasn’t ready, that I’d mess it up, that I was in over my head.

“I don’t know,” I thought to myself. “I guess even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes. Maybe this is just my luck finally turning.” I pondered further, questioning whether I really thought it was luck or because I have always kept going.

That’s when it clicked. It wasn’t luck at all. It was years of intentional effort, learning, skill-building, relationship-cultivating, and brave decision-making. I literally felt my mouth open as I paused, wanting to deflect. To minimize. To say it was mostly luck and circumstance. But as I sat there retracing all the chances I had to give up or take the easier road, it became clear.

The opportunity in front of me hadn’t fallen from the sky. It came because I’d spent years building expertise in my field. Because I’d cultivated relationships with people who trusted my work. All the times I’d said yes to scary things before and proven I could handle them. The moments I’d failed at things, learned from those failures, and come back stronger. None of that was luck. None of that was a blind squirrel accidentally bumping into a nut. That was me. With open eyes. Making choices. Learning. Growing. Building a life intentionally, even when I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.

I'm sure I looked like a fool, but I leaned back, smiled, and turned the page in my journal. Writing, “You’re not blind anymore. Maybe you never were. Maybe you just needed the comfort of thinking you were while your eyes adjusted to the light.”

What My Dad Actually Gave Me

It’s been nearly two years since my dad passed away, and lately I’ve been thinking about why my dad said it. Why that particular phrase became his go-to comfort when I was struggling. I think he saw me in those moments of doubt and fear, and he wanted to ease my anxiety. He wanted me to know that I didn’t have to have it all figured out. That uncertainty was okay. That I could trust the process even when I couldn’t see the outcome.

That gift, that permission to not know, to fumble, to trust that things would work out, was exactly what I needed. Because here’s what he also gave me, alongside that phrase. I understand now that he gave me my curiosity. When I failed at something, he’d ask: “What did you learn?” Not “Why did you fail?” Not “What’s wrong with you?” Just: “What did you learn?”

He gave me resilience. Every time I fell down, he believed I’d get back up. Not because I was lucky, but because I was capable. In many ways, he helped me cultivate my growth mindset. He celebrated effort over outcomes. He encouraged me to try things even when I was scared. He trusted that I could figure things out.

So while “even a blind squirrel finds a nut” became my mantra during the dark times, what he was actually teaching me was how to open my eyes. How to learn. How to grow. How to trust myself. The phrase was the comfort I needed to keep going when I couldn’t see clearly. While also teaching me how to see.

Opening My Eyes

So what does it mean to realize your eyes are open? It means looking at your life and seeing not a series of lucky accidents, but a pattern of choices, effort, and growth. It also means acknowledging the skills you’ve built. Not dismissing them as “no big deal” or “anyone could do that.” Actually seeing them for what they are: capabilities you’ve developed through intentional effort. We also cannot forget to trust our gut. Recognizing that when you make a decision, you’re not just guessing, you’re drawing on years of experience, patterns you’ve learned to recognize, and intuition you’ve cultivated. It means taking credit for your successes. Finding the way to say “I worked for this” instead of “I got lucky.” (Something I deeply struggle to say).

For me, it meant looking at my career and seeing: I built this. Through learning, networking, taking risks, learning from failures, and showing up consistently even when it was hard. When I look back at my relationships, I see that I chose these people intentionally. I’ve worked to be someone worth choosing. I’ve learned how to communicate, how to repair, how to love better. It is also clear to me now that while I stumbled along the way, I have been growing this entire time. My eyes have been opening gradually for years. I just kept telling myself I was blind because that felt safer than trusting my own vision.

If a Blind Squirrel Can Find One Nut…

On the other side of this, now what hit me hardest is that if a blind squirrel, fumbling around in the dark with no vision and no tools, can find a nut, what can I do with open eyes? What can I do with skills I’ve deliberately built? With wisdom I’ve earned through experience? With awareness, intention, and courage?

That answer… I can plant seeds. I can cultivate growth. I can build something sustainable, something abundant, something that nourishes not just me but the people I love. I can pursue the things I actually want, not just accept what accidentally falls in my path. I can take risks based on informed judgment rather than on hope. I can trust myself to navigate uncertainty because I’ve done it before, not blindly, but with increasing clarity each time.

The blind squirrel mentality got me through the times when I genuinely couldn’t see. When I was too scared, too lost, too overwhelmed to trust my own vision. But I’m not there anymore. Continuing to tell myself I’m blind when my eyes are actually open isn’t humility. It’s not even comfort. It’s denying the growth that’s already happened. It’s refusing to acknowledge the capable person I’ve become.

The New Mantra

I still carry my dad’s phrase with me, but I’ve added to it. Now, when I’m facing uncertainty, when I’m scared, when I don’t know exactly what comes next, I tell myself: Even a blind squirrel finds a nut. But I’m not blind anymore. My eyes are open. I have everything I need. And I’m brave enough to trust that.

I think it honors where I came from, those times when I genuinely needed the comfort of believing that things would work out even if I couldn’t see how. It also honors where I am now, a person who has learned, grown, built capability, and developed vision.

I’m not discarding my dad’s wisdom. I’m building on it. He gave me the comfort I needed to keep going through the darkness. Now I’m giving myself permission to trust the light.

What I Want You to Know

If you’re reading this and you’ve been holding onto your own version of “even a blind squirrel finds a nut”, if that phrase or something like it has been your comfort through hard times, I want you to know that comfort was real. That hope was valid. You needed it, and it served you well.

I also want you to ask yourself: Are your eyes still closed? Or have they been opening gradually, without you noticing? Look at what you’ve survived. What you’ve learned. What you’ve built, even when you thought you were just stumbling through. Look at the skills you’ve developed. The wisdom you’ve gained. The ways you’ve grown stronger, wiser, and more capable than you were five years ago. Ten years ago.

You might discover what I discovered: you’re not blind anymore. Maybe you never were. Maybe you just needed the comfort of thinking you were while you found your footing, while your eyes adjusted, while you learned to trust what you were seeing.

And if that’s true, if your eyes are open even just a little bit, then you’re capable of so much more than you’ve been giving yourself credit for. Not because you have to prove anything. Not because you’re not allowed to need comfort or support. But because you’ve done the work. You’ve grown. You’ve built something real. It’s time to trust that.

Author’s Note: This essay is for everyone who’s been carrying a comfort phrase that helped them survive the darkness, and is just now realizing they’re standing in the light. Your eyes are opening. Trust what you see.