I've only ever trusted my gut on everything. I don't trust my

Hear the words of Bryan Adams, a singer of truth wrapped in melody, who once declared: “I’ve only ever trusted my gut on everything. I don’t trust my head, I don’t trust my heart, I trust my gut.” At first, these words seem strange, for are we not taught to use the reason of the mind or the passion of the heart? Yet Adams points us to another realm—the deep, primal wisdom of intuition, the voice within that rises not from logic nor from emotion, but from the core of our being. This is the wisdom of survival, the inner compass forged through countless generations, guiding us when thought is clouded and when feeling is deceived.

To trust the gut is to return to the ancient knowledge carried in the body itself. Long before men wrote laws or philosophies, long before hearts were schooled in poetry, humankind survived by instinct. The hunter who sensed danger without seeing it, the traveler who felt which path to follow, the mother who knew her child’s needs without words—all these lived by the wisdom of the gut. Adams’ words remind us that this instinct is not lost; it is within each of us, waiting to be trusted when both head and heart fail.

The head can mislead, for reason may twist itself into knots, justifying what is false, doubting what is true, seeking safety where there is none. The heart too may betray, for desire blinds, passion deceives, and love sometimes leads into ruin. But the gut—that inner voice beyond words—speaks with clarity in the moment of decision. It is not clouded by pride nor dulled by fear. To trust it is to listen to the deep river flowing beneath thought and emotion, the river that knows what we cannot explain.

History itself bears witness to this truth. Consider Harriet Tubman, who guided enslaved men and women through the peril of the Underground Railroad. She could not rely on the head, for logic told her the journey was impossible. Nor could she always follow the heart, for love of safety or family might have bound her feet. Instead, she relied on her gut, her instinctive sense of when to move, where to hide, which path to take. Time and again, her intuition saved lives, and she became a deliverer of hundreds. This is the living proof of Adams’ teaching: in the fiercest trials, the gut speaks with a wisdom beyond reason and passion.

Yet beware—the gut is not recklessness. It is not the impulse of impatience nor the rashness of folly. It is quiet, steady, and sure. To hear it requires silence, self-awareness, and trust. Many cannot hear it because they drown it out with noise, with doubt, with fear. But those who learn to listen find within themselves a guide that has carried humanity through storm and darkness since the dawn of time.

The lesson is clear: do not cling too tightly to the head, for logic alone cannot navigate life’s mysteries. Do not lean too heavily on the heart, for feeling alone cannot withstand every storm. Instead, cultivate the wisdom of the gut. Pause when you must decide. Feel the weight of the choice not in your mind nor your chest, but in your very core. Ask: does this path sit right in my bones? Does it stir rest or unease in the depths of me? Trust that answer.

So I say to you, seekers of wisdom: strengthen the voice of your gut. Live attentively, listen inwardly, and dare to act upon its counsel. For there will come times when reason hesitates, and love confuses, but instinct speaks. In that moment, be bold enough to follow. For those who trust their gut walk the path of survival, of courage, and of truth—and in so doing, they carry forward the ancient wisdom of humanity itself.