I Don’t Know. And I’m Not Sorry.
These three words really sting, don’t they? When they come out of our mouths, we feel like we’ve failed a little, like we’ve missed something. When we hear them from others, we feel like we’re being kept from something important, or like someone’s been slacking in some way. To fill in the uncomfortable gaps, we’ll make stuff up, and we’ll believe all manner of nonsense. We are weirdly hung up about not knowing.
Maybe it’s the age we live in. With such an abundance of raw information, we probably feel like we should know, like we should feel some degree of certainty. But even amid abundant, random facts, there are still so many gray areas, and that’s admittedly disconcerting.
Maybe it’s an adult thing. We’re expected to figure things out as we grow up, you know, the whole “with age comes wisdom” thing. Lo and behold, we get big, and we’re still in the dark, no matter how many miles we rack up. The bar gets moved all the time as we age, and it’s understandably disheartening.
When you study philosophy, you get “I don’t know” thrown in your face almost immediately (and despite this, I highly recommend that everyone study philosophy). I’ve known that I don’t know for quite a while, but it’s still taken me some time to be comfortable in my not knowing. These days, I find comfort, even happiness, in not knowing some things. I thought I’d share a little of this, in case anyone needs it.
If you don’t know…
You can get in line and take a number. Humans have been around for about three seconds in the grand scheme of things, in a universe that is infinite and infinitely complex. We simply haven’t had time to know everything, or even a fraction of what there is to know. Not knowing is the default setting, and anyone who tells you different is full of… something.
You’re acutely aware of the many, many questions that don’t have just one answer. Don’t wince when one of these questions emerges, just savor it. The mushy middle is a surprisingly wonderful place to sit.
You are probably curious, innovative, and creative, and admitting you don’t know makes room for these gifts. Try to imagine what your existence might be like if you managed to figure everything out (snore).
You needn’t keep it to yourself. Being in the dark together is a bonding experience, so much more so than the divisiveness of feigned certainty or false information. There are friends to be made here.
You’ll likely feel some sort of relief. Pretending we know, or kicking ourselves for all that we don’t know, is utterly exhausting. Let that stuff go.
You’re in good company, historically speaking. Some of the greatest minds ever didn’t know and weren’t afraid to admit it. Socrates built his entire career on it, and in the end, was willing to die for it (at least according to his biographers).
I’m putting it on the table, right here, right now. I don’t know, either. I don’t know how to fix public health, save the planet, put an end to war, or protect human rights, or at least I don’t know how I can enact meaningful change in these things, tiny little speck that I am. I don’t know the secret to lasting happiness, how to read people, how to be calm and reasonable all the time, or how to make myself heard and understood. I don’t know a whole lot of mundane details either, like how to dress fashionably between seasons, or keep a grilled cheese from burning. It’s fine. I don’t mind not knowing these things because I’m comfortable being in the business of finding out, and comfortable being in the presence of others who are busy doing the same. It’s those who seem to have it all figured out, who exude certainty, who give me the ick.
If it’s really such a problem to not know, we can always phrase it a little differently. If those three words taste funny coming out of our mouths, we can always fall back on “I’m not sure,” “I’ll have to think about it,” “I’d like to dig a little deeper,” “I’m still learning,” or a myriad of other alternatives. These other phrases aren’t the exactly the same, but if they take the sting out of not knowing, then they’ll do. It’s all good as long as we feel one key thing—that not knowing isn’t a roadblock or a failing. It doesn’t make us less or deficient. Not knowing isn’t the end of anything, it’s just the beginning. It may, in fact, be just the sort of beginning we all need right now.