Knowledge vs happiness

We like to know, to be sure, to feel secure, to determine what we'll be doing next - but life happens, and our knowledge gets thrown out the window. We try to hold on to it desperately, because we have just figured it all out, it just started working how it's supposed to, it can't just flat out change now! Just. Yes. It can. It does. And we despair in trying to figure it all out again, to rush it into things and familiar terms and words that we know - but most times we don't, most times we have no clue as to what we should do. So we try to parade a facade of knowledge and convince ourselves and others of our course of action, based on our past. Which is a waste of time. Because we have no idea whether or not this will work in the now, but we still can't let go. The unknown is too scary to face, the knowledge is our bedpost, our covers, our pillow - to hide the face underneath, to pretend there are no ghosts sneaking up on us from under the bed. It's safe and warm and certain. What else could feel as good? 

Happiness. Which contradicts with the knowledge. In general, to be happy we have to un-know, to trust what is happening with us, to let ourselves feel - all without knowing. Without looking into the past and drawing comparisons, without sneaking into the future and hypothesizing on what will work and what won't. Breaking all patterns known to us, trusting our gut - something we are not used to doing anymore ever since the first time we got into trouble as little kids and were told to never repeat that mistake again. We tried really hard the rest of our lives to stay true to what we promised, but something was missing. The spontaneity, the carelessness, the willingness to jump into something new, for fun. I don't mean to belittle the value of the knowledge, but we tend to hyper-focus on it and forget that knowledge is not the end in itself, it's only part of the path - and the other part is letting go, every single moment, for the experience at hand - to fully immerse in it, trusting we will be able to surface when our oxygen runs out. Instead, we typically put one foot out, carefully, touch the water, and step in, but we never take the other foot off the ground. Or better still, we always keep one foot in one place, another - in another. To ensure the stability. To escape the disappointment with which we are so familiar, from the past, to minimize the pain. Jumping head forward, deep? No way. What if it's too shallow, what if it's too deep, what if it's too cold or too hot? 

In the end, usually, it doesn't matter much, all of this internal yapping - when we do decide to jump, purely for experience, we are very happy while we're at it. But then we fall into another trap - if it was indeed too shallow and we hit our head, we can't forgive ourselves and others and move on - remember, like we did when we were three years old and after a few minutes of quarreling over a toy, we would happily continue playing with our friend, no matter how painful the crying or the hitting or the pulling of the hair was - over the toy that we didn't know how to share? Where did that go? Knowledge. It's our curse, the stick with two ends - we never know which one will hit and which one will reward. So we're on constant watch - I know I am. Trying to balance it all out and stay in the moment - learn yet be able to let go. Create yet not be afraid to destroy if needed. Destroy yet not be afraid to spend time to recreate it if I feel like it. Approach each day as a blank piece of paper to be filled in - with whatever comes my way. And no matter how prettily the patterns were laid out yesterday, toss the paper each morning and start new, knowing and trusting that whatever comes up for me, will be beautiful and full of love. Even if it's only a few ink lines, broken and disjointed, in need of repair - to find beauty in that, to not rush into the past to try to mend everything, to not make everything perfect, to not stay still but swim, letting the water carry me. I am so used to actively flapping my arms and legs around, struggling against myself, that trusting the movement of another body, the body of water, is a challenge. Which is what again? Knowledge. 

I don't know if I will break my bones, if I will break my heart, if I will break my head - I try not to look over the corner to try to predict which one it will be. I don't know, and I don't know that I don't know. I just don't. And you know what? The second I'm ok with it, ok with now knowing - I'm actually happy.

Photo by Evil Erin.