When You Think You Know, But You Don't

#1852

If I look back, most of my mistakes were not the result of me not knowing. Most of those times, I thought I knew. Sometimes, I was even sure I knew. But I didn't. And that got me in trouble.

When I don't know, I'm more alert, open, and curious. I ask questions and explore before acting.

When I know, I just do. If I'm sure, I go for it.

I know what to do, I'm confident about what will happen, and I'm sure about my stuff. That's how it should be, right?

Troubles arise when I think I know, but I don't. It's like when Will. E. Coyote runs against a wall, sure there will be a tunnel. Painful.

Yet, how do you manage this?

We can't always doubt ourselves and our knowledge if we want to make progress. Eventually, we must trust what we have and go for it.

Perhaps the answer lies not in questioning whether we know but in being open to the possibility that we might not know even when we're certain we know. It's a subtle but essential difference.

When I approach a situation with both confidence and humility, I give myself permission to act decisively while remaining receptive to new information. I'm not paralyzing myself with doubt, but I'm also not blinding myself with certainty.

Sure, when I hit that wall like Wile E. Coyote, it still hurts. But there's a difference now. Instead of being shocked that the tunnel wasn't real, I can laugh a little and think, "Well, there was always a chance this might happen." The pain is the same, but the suffering is less.

So perhaps wisdom isn't about perfect knowledge but perfect willingness—willingness to not know, to learn, to adjust, and to keep going. It's knowing that hitting walls is part of the journey, not a reason to stop running.

After all, even Wile E. Coyote always gets up and tries again. And isn't that the point?