Why I Love What I Don't Know

So . . . it's been a year since I started this blog, and about 150 posts later I thought I'd return to the core of the blog.  There is so much more that we don't know than we do, yet we insist on certainty in many cases.  Most of what I write here is based on my opinion rather than any hard fact or known perspective.  I don't know if I'm right about whether effort matters in sports, or if people generally misperceive pricing information, or what the ending of Lost meant (as I said, I started the blog a year ago this week). And in my opinion, the world would be a much better place if we all would admit that there is a lot we don't know.

Allow me to illustrate some frivolous examples.  The first is an ad for Microsoft's Encarta, which was a pre-Wikipedia digital encyclopaedia on CD-ROM.  The ad likely dates from the late 1990's and features a little boy asking his dad why the sky is blue.  The dad doesn't know, so he looks it up on Encarta and finds the right answer for his son.  The key thing that I remember from the ad is that the dad began by admitting that he didn't know the answer.

The second example is from when I myself was a young boy (I actually once was - there are witnesses and everything).  I must have been about seven, and was at school playing outside during recess.  There was thunder and lightning, but no rain.  Confused, I asked a teacher how there could be thunder and no rain.  Her response: "there's no reason to be frightened of thunder, dear."  Now more confused and thinking that she hadn't understood me, I repeated my question, and she repeated her answer.  When I got home I asked my parents why she didn't answer, and they told me that it was probably because she didn't know.  Which is what she should have said instead.

Last example: flash-forward a few years and now I am a gangly, awkward teenager (unlike the suave, devilishly handsome man I am now).  I'm at some sort of fun fair at a community center, and there is a box of small, crappy, cheap plastic toys as prizes for kids.  The box contains an assortment of different toys, but they all have a label bearing the name "Montrose," the manufacturer.  A little kid and his dad take a prize (as I remember, a little cup and ball game).  The boy asks his dad what it is.  The dad examines the package for a few moments, and then proclaims, "It's a Montrose, son."

Just say you don't know!

I see my son and his classmates (and, dishearteningly, several adults) engage in similar behaviour.  There seems to be a human need to explain things even when we don't know the true explanation.  Some of the logical leaps may be funny, but they are made because uncertainty is not welcome.  For learning to occur, you have to start with admitting that you don't know.

Maybe I'm wrong about all this.  Maybe the teacher had a hearing problem.  Maybe Montrose is such a well-respected crappy-toy manufacturer that "It's a Montrose" is all you need to know, or the kid was asking who made the toy rather than what it was.  The fact is that I don't know most things for certain.  And I'm fine with that.

Thanks to all of my readers who make me feel like the limited time I spend on this blog is not wasted.  Right now, the one thing I do feel certain about is my gratitude that you take time out of your day to peruse my ramblings.  I think I'm going to keep doing this for a while longer (though perhaps on a reduced schedule during the summer) and I'm happy to have you along for the journey.