The Power of “I Don’t Know”

When I first began accepting my blindness just a few short years ago, it unleashed a well of knowing from somewhere deep in my being. So many unknown aspects of myself as a human became clear. So many of my perceived flaws simply became things I needed to learn. And I dove into the learning. Into the knowing. I learned braille (elementary as it may be at level 1). Mobility training. Accessible technology. And those were just the physical aspects. I learned so much about myself emotionally, mentally, spiritually. And I loved writing about it all, as everything just flowed so easily out of me. I felt so proud to share what I knew because I had spent so many years feeling like I had nothing to offer. I spent so many years feeling the burden of “I don’t know”. 

So yesterday when I came across a “how to” video I made a few years ago about my accessible Apple TV and how to work it, I watched it curiously, barely remembering making it, and thought “Wow, where did this person who knew so much go?” I was awed by how confidently I explained how to use the audible features. Awed by how motivated to both learn and educate I appeared. Awed by the contrast of how bogged down I’ve felt in the past 3 years.

Ever since we moved to California 3 years ago, life has felt uncertain, and there have been so many new things to learn. Uncertainty isn’t a brand new feeling for me. After all, for any human being on planet Earth, uncertainty is a natural part of life, as nothing is really permanent. But having left the familiarity of the place I grew up, with family and friends I’d lived near for years, combined with new house, new routes, new jobs, new schools, new neighbors, new community, this uncertainty has just felt more palpable. And it’s almost as if my typically observant, reflective mind hasn’t been able to keep up with all of the changes, which explains why the blog posts and “how to” videos have slowed to a crawl.

The uncertainty seemed to hit a peak last September when my husband’s studio lost its funding. Suddenly the entire reason we moved to SoCal in the first place was no longer in the equation, and we were met with a new batch of questions that basically boil down to the very familiar song lyrics: “Should I stay or should I go now?” We stayed, and I took on a new full time position at my school just in time for my husband to begin pursuing his lifelong dream of working on his music full time. Dreams have an interesting way of being beautiful in the most ethereal ways and challenging in the most practical ways. It’s almost as if we’ve chosen to dive even deeper into the realm of uncertainty, tightening our budgets to a level of tautness previously unknown.

Last week we flew to our hometown of Naperville due to a death in the family, the pinnacle of uncertainty for human beings. In the midst of grieving family members and the helpless feeling of living so far away from people during their time of great need, I found myself feeling bogged down with uncertainty and indecision. On our last night in Illinois, as I walked from one family member’s house to another’s, my footsteps felt slow and heavy, an undergirding “I don’t know” underfoot, once again burdening me. Out of nowhere, however, I felt this still, small voice, almost inaudible, ask me a question.

“What DO you know?”

It made me pause. Ponder. Search.

“Well, I know that I have a beautiful, supportive extended family.”

Step. Pause. Search. What else do I know?

“I know thatI have a husband who is the happiest he has ever been making music for people.”

Step. Pause. Search.

“I know that I have a job that feels fulfilling at this moment.”

Step. Pause. Search.

“I know that I have amazing community, both in Illinois and California.”

As I’m writing this, these thoughts seem obvious, but in those moments, I really did have to search for them. These were just short, simple thoughts, bordering on gratitudes, knowings that I could grasp onto in the midst of unknowing.

I shared this experience with my dad yesterday, and he told me about this exercise called “I don’t know” that he did at a retreat he recently attended. He was paired with a partner, and they took turns asking each other questions, to which they could only answer “I don’t know”. He said the questions started out simple, such as “where were you born?”, which at first caused he and his partner to chuckle as they said “I don’t know” to such obvious questions. But then as the questions became more esoteric, he said it felt relieving to say “I don’t know”.

I smiled at the story but still didn’t really get it. “What was the point of the exercise, dad?”

“Well,” my dad said, “there’s actually a lot of freedom in not knowing, in admitting you don’t have the answers.”

Hmmm. I had to stop and think about that one. I like knowing. I like having answers. But something in his reply resonated. It also made me think about how I’ve never arrived at a place of knowing without first gaining awareness of my “not knowing”. My growth as a person with sight loss first started when I admitted that I really didn’t know anything about living without sight.

Among my friends experiencing sight loss, I’ve noticed that the times we reach out to one another for the most support are typically times when we’re attempting something new. Taking an Uber for the first time. A train ride to the city. Navigating through security in an airport. Things we don’t yet know how to do.

One of my favorite “Anne of Green Gable’s” quotes says “Isn’t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive–it’s such an interesting world. It wouldn’t be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There’d be no scope for imagination then, would there?” – L.M. Montgomery,

I love this quote so much that it was on my email signature line last year, and every time I read it, I always thought I was celebrating knowledge. But when I read it again now, I realize that it’s really a quote that celebrates “not knowing”.

As I dive into deeper levels of uncertainty right now, that still, small voice is gently speaking again.

Step. Pause. Search.

“I know that it’s okay not to know.”

So today, as you think about the many things you do not know. Revel in them. Love them. This is the very best starting point, my friend.