I’m the eldest child in my family, so I grew up with an allergy to admitting I don’t know things. For example, I once responded to a nomenclature question from my younger sister by telling her a certain tool is called “channel lock pliers” because our grandfather used it to change channels when the knob fell off his TV.
I’ve outgrown the predilection to flat-out make shit up when someone asks me something I don’t know. But on some level, maybe that impulse is still there because when weighty unknowns cause anxiety, it’s comforting to me to learn what I can about whatever the issue is and then convince myself that I have a reasonable idea of what will happen next.
I suspect a lot of people do that in ways large and small — uncertainty is stressful for most of us, and learning as much as you can about an uncertain situation is helpful up to a point. But it can become a species of magical thinking that can be harmful if you let it blind you to new information that conflicts with your priors. Sometimes it’s better to just to admit you don’t know and try to make your peace with that.
I’ve been ruminating on how tortuous “I don’t know” is to me in relation to personal issues lately. But the stress of “I don’t know” is broader than that, thanks to the curse of these interesting times. Maybe that’s why I found this take by David Kurtz at TPM on the upcoming Speaker of the House vote so refreshing:
Let’s start with an assessment that violates the No. 1 rule of political reporting (posturing as knowing what’s about to happen): No one really knows whether Jim Jordan is going to win the speakership today. I certainly don’t, and rather than pretending otherwise it’s a good time to sit back and observe, report, and stay a bit humble.
Wow — imagine that!
Open thread.