How To “Not Know”

By Shannon Thompson 

“How will you go about finding the thing totally unknown to you?” – Rebecca Solnit

“I’m worried about my future,” he said, she said, so many of them tell me, with differing looks and a wild variance between excitement and fear. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.” My work as a mental performance consultant for athletes provides me with numerous opportunities to discuss the unknown:

“The doctor doesn’t know what it is, “ the soccer player tells me about her knee pain, which has plagued her for weeks now.

“I don’t know when I’ll play,” says the basketball freshman, who has yet to start in a game.

“I don’t know where to focus,” explains the tennis player.

“What are my values?” The coach asks, exasperated as he tries to articulate his coaching philosophy.

“Who do I want to be?” so many repeat back to me, eyes wide at the breadth of my question. “I don’t know.”

Uncertainty is one of the most uncomfortable states for human beings to experience. Sometimes we prefer to know for certain that an event will have a negative conclusion than to feel uncertain about the outcome. The need to be certain can lead to a reflexive pessimism that can limit our vision for our future, and can cause us to rush into decisions that feel misaligned with our intuitions. We are panicked to be sure. Never mind the beautiful pathway that patience could reveal, we want to know the end now. Craving certainty we are desperate to escape the affliction of “I don’t know.”

My intent through this article is to draw your attention to the exciting place that is uncertainty. When we don’t know what to do we tend to move slowly and carefully; we pay close attention to our surroundings, and we’re available to influences that might not have had a chance to change us if we were striding confidently down a familiar path. If we can embrace it, uncertainty can be a gift.

“When you don’t know what to do, get still, until you do know what to do”, says Oprah Winfrey. I agree. There are many questions that athletes bring to me that I can answer: when they tell me that they become overwhelmed by anxious thoughts I advise them to focus on their breath. When they have a grievance with a teammate, I encourage them to have a discussion with that teammate. When they feel unmotivated to train I tell them to do one small element of training well. But, sometimes athletes bring questions that are not mine to answer.

“I feel like maybe I should quit,” one professional runner told me, “but, I could make it to the Olympics if I train for three more years …” This decision is personally monumental, and must take into account a lifetime of work and dreaming. I can’t possibly know enough about this journey, or what it’s like to be this person, to give this athlete an adequately informed opinion.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Another pro runner asked. “Running is everything; when I’m done will there be no one left?” This athlete is concerned that his intense commitment to his sport will cost him his closest relationships. This is a choice involving the forces of the heart – his territory alone.

However, I can help a person explore his dilemma. I can thoroughly imagine the options with him, and enable him to clarify how he feels. More often than not I encourage someone to be patient and curious. My approach to navigating the unknown has been shaped greatly by the philosopher and poet, David Whyte. A biologist by schooling, Whyte has gone on to write on numerous existential topics, one of which is the experience of not knowing what to do:

“Eventually we realize that not knowing what to do is just as real and just as useful as knowing what to do. Not knowing stops us from taking false directions. Not knowing what to do, we start to pay real attention. Just as people lost in the wilderness, on a cliff face or in a blizzard pay attention with a kind of acuity that they would not have if they thought they knew where they were. Why? Because for those who are really lost, their life depends on paying real attention. If you think you know where you are, you stop looking.”

Coincidentally, as I sat puzzling over this very piece of writing, a soccer player wandered into my office to chat. The starting goalie in her senior year of college, this young lady now wears a sling, which is supporting her right arm. Yesterday, she was involved in a collision with a teammate that sent her to the hospital. “Nothing is broken,” she tells me, “but I can’t move my neck. It might be a joint. I don’t know. They don’t know for sure.”

I don't know.

How do we make the most of these mysterious, unsettling times in our lives? Here are some guidelines regarding what we will and will not do:

We will not make any critical decisions when we don’t know what to do. The correct path for each one of us has a way of calling our hearts through its doors alone. This is especially true for life’s biggest decisions like choosing a vocation, a spouse, or a place to live. “Follow your bliss” mythologist, Joseph Campbell has famously advised, and I have yet to know anyone who has regretted doing so. However, not-knowing-what-to-do usually means we’re having trouble clarifying what our bliss is. So, unless you feel a powerful pull of joy toward a major decision, wait. Be still. If you feel like you must do something, curiously follow the most enticing of the faint calls. These can be interests, opportunities for fun, or activities you’ve previously felt a little nervous to try. Perhaps these will bring you close enough to your path that you’ll hear a louder voice in time.

We will differentiate between love and fear. Ask yourself, are you being drawn down that path you are considering, or are you being chased? Are you excited about the prospect of time spent in that craft, or in that place, or with that person? Or, are you more focused on what others will say about your choice? Does the decision that you’re leaning toward inspire a smile upon your face that is an overflow from your heart? Or, are you using the word “should” frequently to justify your choice?

Choose a path that you love. Love is a knowing that brightens your eyes. Love stirs excitement, and curiosity, and the right kind of nervousness – the kind you feel before you ask the beautiful girl out, or before you set foot on a new mountain trail. One sign that you’ve chosen a path that you love is that you like the person that you become on that path. And, at the same time, the right venture normally takes the attention off of yourself. Rather, you are entirely focused on the task before you.

Watch out for decisions driven by fear. Fear is a shrinking and looking behind. It is the constraint of must and should. It is your perception that the opinions of others are evaluating your worth based on your choices, and a sharp need to impress or please those opinions. When driven by fear we avoid examining who we really are, and we become closed off from our true center. Fear entices your attention backward, ears and eyes vigilant for the all - important ridicule or praise from the masses.

We will ask and answer our own questions. What do you want to know about the world? What do you want to know about yourself? What do you want to become involved with? What could you build, or grow, or change? Follow the questions that interest you. David Whyte puts it this way:

“Therefore, at any time in your life, follow your own questions. Don’t mistake other people’s questions for your own… I had to wonder how many other questions I had living inside me, exhausting my powers, that were not my own.”

We will become curious about what we love, and what calls our attention, one small step at a time. “Right now all I know is that I want to play basketball,” the athlete told me. His tall, elegant frame leaned back in the chair, the light in his eyes almost bright enough to illuminate his obsidian cheeks. “But they say I need a career. I don’t know what classes to take.”

“What sounds interesting?” I ask.

“Philosophy.”

“So take philosophy.” Follow the faint call, one step at a time. Perhaps it will lead you to a louder one. Whyte spells this out in his poem, “Start Close In":

Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in …

When it comes to navigating uncertainty, just start walking down a path that is beautiful to you today. It doesn’t matter if you can’t see the end when you begin. When life is changing, and there is no clear next move, that is exciting because something has to happen. The next tiny step will become clear, or a knowing inside you will shift, or an opportunity will reveal itself in your life that you could not have imagined. Look around; pay attention, both externally and internally. The most anxious not-knowing can become the most beautiful unbelievable if you have the courage to wait for it.

About the Author 

Shannon Thompson is a mental performance consultant who specializes in high performance sport. Shannon holds a Masters of Applied Positive Psychology degree from the University of Pennsylvania.