Last week, I found an old photograph at the bottom of a shoe box. The memory takes me back to third grade. If I try, I can just catch the mineral smell of chalk dust and hear the screech as my teacher—let’s call her Mrs Smith—writes on the blackboard. It is a sound lost to past decades or relegated to retro TV shows and films.

My desk is real wood, with a top that lifts up to reveal a storage compartment. I’m sitting a third of the way toward the back of the room, near the righthand side, one student away from the window. I am staring out past my classmate, fidgeting with the desk lid, wincing and squirming, and trying to ignore the harsh, intermittent squeaking of the chalk.

The noise finally stops as Mrs Smith finishes writing out a math problem.I glance over in relief as she turns.

“Who can tell me the answer?”

I look at the board. My hand shoots up. She calls on me and I spout out a number.

“Good, Jan, that’s right,” she says, walking over to me. “Now please explain how you got it.”

“I can’t,” I say, with a shrug.

“You can’t,” she asks, giving me a pointed stare, “or you won’t?”

I give it earnest eight-year-old consideration. A moment later, insight dawns and I see. I simply hadn’t gone the extra step to know how I knew what I knew.

I go on to explain, winning a smug, satisfied smile from Mrs Smith.

On that day, my third grade teacher offered me so much more than a math lesson. She illuminated the distinction between can’t and won’t.

It’s easy to forget—I often need to remind myself.I share the Mrs Smith story with my busy, caring, over-scheduled clients drowning in requests and demands.

Alaya Chadwick, another Wise Teacher, offers this succinct way of filtering:

I can / I can’t,

I will / I won’t.

Can you? If so, will you? What if you can’t? Any answer is clarifying.

I ask my clients to imagine allowing their heads, hearts, and bodies to respond to these questions. Do all perspectives align? Does the heart say yes and the head say no? What about the body? When there’s a conflict, who wins?

When my whole self sings in one voice, I notice that can and will merge to become a clear yes or no of life. So much unfolds from here.

Of course, I probably don’t need to tell you: This is simple, but not easy.

[What comes up for you when you consider the difference between “I can’t” and “I won’t”? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments (The Website Field is optional—you can leave it blank and still comment). For more reflections, stories, and practical ways to listen more closely to your own inner knowing, join my email newsletter.]