The Art of Not Knowing

As I did my umpteenth crunch at the gym tonight, watching the students go by, it dawned on me that I’m getting old. Now, not in any earth-shattering, dread-inspiring way, but in a gentle, “oh” sort of way. Part of this is that I’m 29 now and most people at the University gym are about a decade younger than me.

I became somewhat fascinated by this, by the odd fact that each of them has a whole ten years ahead of them before they get “here” – wherever “here” is. I wondered what each one dreamed of being, of doing out there in the “real world” one day. I thought of where I am now, and where many of my friends are. And it dawned on me that there was no way in hell I could have seen “this” ten years ago.

My best friend Dave and me, about 10 years ago (his tequila).

Ten years ago my plan was to go to business school, become an accountant, and make lots of money.

Thank goodness some things don’t work out.

Me, hoping some of the philosopher-genius in front of me rubs off (he seems to be doing well with the girls too…)

And for the most part, for many years my life was going quite well. And I had absolutely no idea where it was going. It just was. Challenges arose and I met them, or tried and moved on.

It wasn’t until I was drawn into the deep illusion of having it all figured out that I received one of the toughest blows of my life. I was engaged to a woman who, on paper (big name degrees, fancy job) was perfect. The future suddenly opened before me like never before. The pieces were all in place. Then the engagement dissolved. Real life is often not as pretty as the paper it’s printed on. A future that I’d come to cling to, to fear losing, with which I had deeply identified, was gone. A future, gone.

And… A new future created.

But not simply in the shallow sense of, “I’ll get over it, I’ll be fine.” But rather a realization of more than the fact that this person wasn’t right, the realization that life and the future are always in flux.

So beware of ever thinking you’ve got it all figured out. Ever. In any way.

As a philosopher, my career depends a great deal on getting concepts right. Yet another attempt at knowing. However, in recent conversations, online and off, my “knowledge” of anattā (not-self) has grown in such a way as to undercut some of my views on the term. (insert favorite “beginners-mind” quote here.)

So, returning to my crunches at the gym and the Art of Not Knowing…

Do we ever know? (uh oh, the philosopher in me is screaming to come out.) I’m a currently devout contextualist – or coherentist – and not too concerned with the differences or problems therein. (there, enough.)

More importantly is what we do with knowledge. Number one, don’t cling. Number two, share with others (but I’m getting ahead of myself). Number three, keep working and trust that things will be okay. Number four, be humble. For Chrissake, you might be wrong about a thing or two! Number five, be forgiving. Those idiots who were sooooo wrong yesterday might actually be right today (if you need help with this, see number four).

Enough of that.

One of my greatest fortunes in life has been knowing some truly amazing old people (you know, over 30). My friend Larry, for instance, is a 60-something retired oil-company manager Catholic-convert, former minister, former new-age con-man of a sort, former accountant (why he ever gave up the accounting I still don’t know). He’s also one of the kindest, most generous and thoughtful people I’ve ever known. My Pali-friend (co-learner), Matt, has likewise led a succession of “lives” from minister with a mastery of Greek and Hebrew to “tracker” to dude-ranch cowboy and now wants to know Pali and teach mindfulness. Go figure.

I also had a bit of an encounter with spiritual counseling recently when a meditation student of mine asked for some spiritual/Buddhist/religious perspective on some recent tough times in her life. Looking back, I think I talked too much. By that I mean that she pretty well had things figured out – she knew that things were gonna be rough, and her attitude showed that she was accepting, and even beginning to forgive.

It was humbling, trying to be something of a guide or teacher or something, when watching this young woman thinking and feeling through emotions in a much more mature way than I than I would have. What do I know? At that time, pretty much nothing. Because at that time knowledge only would have gotten in the way.

So to have things “figured out” at 29 is perhaps about as ridiculous as having them figured out at 19 or 50 or 65. The key, instead, may be simply to not know. And learning to not know can take some work. But I’d encourage everyone to give it a try.

Me and my father, about 25 years ago, when I really did have it all figured out.