“The less we know, the more we can learn”

“One of my favorite phrases is “I don’t know,” admits Sally Brampton. – If I say this, someone will definitely enlighten me and tell me what I need to know. Useful, right? Believe me, such openness is very conducive. We invite the interlocutor to share with us a particle of his wisdom – who would not be flattered by this? And then, this is such a rarity: wow, someone really wants to know something new! There is nothing worse than self-reveling know-it-alls who talk you half to death. Who hasn’t had to get into such a situation: the interlocutor talks, and talks, and talks about himself, then suddenly falls silent and finally looks into our eyes … For a fraction of a second, we are visited by a crazy thought: maybe he is still interested in us? And then he utters: “Something I chatted. Now tell me what you think of me?” Personally, by this point I’m already so depressed that I can’t answer. Maybe it’s for the best that I’m demoralized: at least I’m holding back from wanting to hit this smug guy with something heavy.

By the way, if we honestly admit that we don’t know something (this, generally speaking, is akin to innocence), we are less likely to get entangled in the web of “white lies”, from which we don’t know how to free ourselves later. In the end, with lies or silence, we ourselves drive ourselves into a trap and find ourselves in an idiotic position rather than if we dared to tell the truth. In addition, we will be overcome by the eternal fear of being a liar (especially exposed). Familiar feeling? How stupid it all is! After all, mistakes are so natural for any person!

Vulnerability can be charming in its own way, but complacency is never. The less we know, the more we can learn – that’s the point. Ignorance is our starting point. Great creators never exalted themselves. They had the humility to make mistakes, which is why they experimented endlessly. Knowing about the laws of perspective, they violated them. Picasso first painted divine pictures, and then began to draw puzzles. Here is an example from my own humble experience. My friend and I have a common plot of land. At first we were complete laymen in gardening. Our cries of “I don’t know!” announced the whole neighborhood, and our head was spinning. Well, how could we imagine that some ordinary vegetables there would turn out to be so capricious? But now we are practically world luminaries in the field of aphid control, and beans with their luxurious appearance show us their gratitude for getting rid of these disgusting little critters.

The phrase “I don’t know” is very different from the phrase “I don’t care.” These words infuriate me. What would you like delicious? – Does not matter. “Maybe something from Indian cuisine?” Italian? Thai? French? – Does not matter. – Ah well! Maybe then we can eat fried grasshoppers? – Does not matter. I’m ready to kill for this. Or go to a restaurant alone because I care, really care, what I eat. And if I get lost along the way, some kind soul will show me the way. People are so nice in that regard.”