I’m not exactly sure when it happened, or how, or why.
But at some point in my life, I started to feel like I needed to know… everything.
To have an answer. An opinion. A thoughtful response ready at all times.
Maybe it was ego. Maybe it was a desire to appear intelligent or wise. Maybe it was about belonging, or being “in the know.” It was probably a little bit of all of it, mixed with genuine curiosity.
For a long time, I thought knowing things made me safer. More respectable. More valuable in a room.
And then, something shifted.
An unexpected phrase had become a favorite of mine:
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
And even more surprising - I loved that I didn’t!
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Not knowing created space.
Space to listen more deeply when something really mattered. Space to be curious when curiosity was real, not forced.
We live in a world that rewards certainty. Hot takes. Fast answers. Opinions delivered with confidence, whether or not they’re rooted in lived experience.
But wisdom often lives somewhere quieter.
In the pause. In the humility of saying, “That’s not my lane.”
In the honesty of admitting, “I’m not interested in that - and that’s okay.”
Also liberating: not knowing something does not automatically mean I want to learn about it. And that doesn’t make me closed-minded. It makes me discerning.
There was a time when politeness meant pretending - nodding along, asking follow-up questions, signaling engagement even when my body and soul were saying no thank you. (sometimes complete with fantasy eye rolls)
Now, politeness looks more like truth.
It looks like honoring my bandwidth and choosing depth over breadth.
Simply put - allowing myself to be uninterested without apology!
We don’t need to engage with everything to be kind.
There is beauty in not knowing. Beauty in letting mystery remain.
In trusting that what’s meant for me will spark genuine curiosity - not obligatory politeness.
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And perhaps the greatest gift of all: