The thing about parenting rules is there aren't any. That's what

In the words of Ewan McGregor, there is both humility and eternal truth: “The thing about parenting rules is there aren’t any. That’s what makes it so difficult.” These words strike the heart with honesty, for they confess what every mother and father soon learns—that no manual, no law, no fixed system can capture the vast, shifting mystery of raising a child. Each child is a universe, each parent a wanderer in uncharted lands, and thus the journey cannot be mapped in advance. The absence of fixed rules is not a failure of wisdom, but a sign of the sacred uniqueness of every life.

The ancients knew this reality, though they too sought guidelines for the art of raising the young. The Stoics taught discipline, the Hebrews commanded love and instruction, the Confucians emphasized duty and respect. Yet even they admitted that life constantly defied the rigidity of rules. Heraclitus, the philosopher of change, might have smiled at McGregor’s words, for he taught that “no man steps in the same river twice.” So it is with parenting: the river of the child’s growth is never the same, and the parent must learn to step anew each day, guided less by rules than by love, patience, and presence.

History offers us an example in the life of Abraham Lincoln. His parenting style was unlike the harsh methods common in his time. He allowed his children to run free in the White House, often interrupting his meetings with laughter and play. To critics, this looked like weakness, a breaking of rules. But Lincoln knew that the essence of fatherhood was not the blind enforcement of tradition, but the living of love and freedom. His children adored him, not because he followed a set doctrine, but because he treated them as individuals whose joy mattered as much as his own burdens.

McGregor’s words remind us that the difficulty of parenting lies precisely in this lack of certainty. To raise a child is to dwell in constant tension: when to discipline and when to forgive, when to guide and when to step aside, when to hold close and when to let go. No book can provide the perfect answer, for what works for one child fails for another, and what works in one season fails in the next. This uncertainty is heavy, but it is also what makes parenting an art rather than a science, a craft shaped by love rather than by formula.

The meaning, then, is deeply emotional: parents feel lost because they are meant to. To be lost is not a sign of failure, but of love’s humility. For the parent who admits they do not know is already closer to wisdom than the one who pretends mastery. In this way, McGregor’s reflection is liberating, stripping away the illusion that perfection is possible, and urging us instead to embrace the mess, the trial, the improvisation that is the true nature of parenting.

The lesson for us is clear. First, let us not be crushed by the absence of rules, but recognize it as an invitation to live fully present with our children. Second, let us remember that love, patience, and humility are greater guides than any rigid doctrine. Third, let us forgive ourselves for our mistakes, for without fixed rules, mistakes are inevitable—but they need not define us if love remains the center of our journey.

O seekers of truth, remember this: the absence of rules does not mean the absence of meaning. The meaning lies in the struggle itself, in the late nights, the uncertain choices, the whispered prayers for wisdom. To parent without rules is to walk by faith, shaping a path day by day, guided not by certainty but by devotion.

Thus, Ewan McGregor’s words endure as a testament to the raw, untamed nature of parenting. It is difficult precisely because it cannot be reduced to rules, and beautiful for the same reason. Each child, each family, each moment is new, and therein lies the holiness of the task. Do not seek rigid laws; seek instead the courage to love without ceasing. In this way, though there are no rules, there will always be light.