As kids we learned “we need to know” to be valued by others. From an evolutionary perspective, the more we knew the safer we were while wandering the plains. Between the Serengeti and the streets of New York, however, “knowing” has become a downright pain in the neck. We seldom even consider that we might not know what we don’t know… because “needing to know” married “needing to be right!”

Maimonides said: “Teach thy tongue to say I don’t know and thou shalt progress.” Hmmmm… do you smell wisdom there?

Author Austin Kleon recently wrote a short piece on this topic. I read it twice. I needed to know what it said in order to not be a pain in the neck!  Enjoy!

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Teach your tongue to say I don’t know

I’ve long believed that “not-knowing” is the proper mental state for making art, but I’m starting to think it’s the proper mental state for going about life in general. (As Mike Monteiro says, “The secret to being good at anything is to approach it like a curious idiot, rather than a know-it-all genius.”)

“Whatever inspiration is, it’s born from a continuous ‘I don’t know,’” said the poet Wislawa Szymborska in her 1996 Nobel Prize lecture. She spoke of why she values “that little phrase ‘I don’t know’ so highly”:

Happy New Year, Dear Readers!

Today I read a quote from a letter written by a man named Harry Brown. I did a quick search and was able to pull up the entire letter. I hope you enjoy the letter’s theme as much as I did. 

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from the New York Times

Sometimes he stood 8 feet 2 inches tall. Sometimes he lived in a garbage can. He often cited numbers and letters of the alphabet, and for nearly a half century on “Sesame Street” he was Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch, opening magic doors for children on the secrets of growing up and the gentle arts of friendship.

His name was Caroll Spinney — not that many people would know it — and he was the comfortably anonymous whole-body puppeteer who, since the 1969 inception of the public television show that has nurtured untold millions of children, had portrayed the sweet-natured, canary-yellow giant bird and the misanthropic, furry-green bellyacher in the trash can outside 123 Sesame Street.

The article below was written in 2016 while Parker Palmer was writing for “On Being.” It is worth rereading as we all need to be reminded about how to help another who is suffering – no matter their age.

Children are so often rolled over with our “wise” advice when the best experience we could provide is to sit quietly and allow them to be heard.

The holidays can be tough for many people – even for some who appear to “have it all.” Make a pledge this season to give others the gift of your listening. 

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The Perils of Advice

Parker J. Palmer

When my mother went into a nursing home not long before she died, my wife and I were told that, for a modest increase in the monthly fee, the staff would provide a few extra services to improve her quality of life. We gladly paid, grateful that we could afford it.

Paul Kalanithi was a young Stanford neurosurgeon who died March 9, 2015 from lung cancer.  Some of you may have read his New York Times essay “How Long Have I Got Left.” Possibly you have read his book Breath Becomes Air (which has close to 9,000 reviews on Amazon) which his wife Lucy published after his death. Or maybe you read Lucy’s NYT’s interview about how the book came about. All good stuff to look into when you have moment.

This week I am featuring Lucy’s response to receiving snail mail condolence notes and cards.  It is refreshing, sweet and to the point. And what a wonderful idea to have children participate.

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How to Write a Condolence Note

From blog “Cup of Jo” By Joanna Goddard

This past spring (…) my brother-in-law Paul died of lung cancer. My sister, Lucy, was flooded with condolence cards and flowers. “I loved every single card,” she said, “Just getting a card felt so good.” Yet a few things stuck out as especially touching. We spoke on the phone this week, and she shared what she has learned…

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Snail mail a card. Every email, phone call, everything was wonderful; I was astounded by how kind people were. Physical cards were especially nice to hold onto. I didn’t care at all what the card looked like. I have them in a basket in our living room and see them every day.

Describe how you can help. I was so grateful when people said, “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.” But when people offered specifics, it felt even easier for me to take them up on their offers. One friend wrote, “If you ever want to come over, we can grill and make grapefruit mojitos; we’d love to see you and there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you.”

I have always related to Garrison Keilor’s humor. My background in rural Ohio was similar to Keilor’s. While the 1950’s didn’t seem to be particularly humorous at the time, they do in retrospect. 

Quaint. Endearing. And funny. 

The Depression still informed my family’s attitude. And the underlying message was always “things could be worse” no matter how bad they seem in the moment. 

Why not take this thought forward into your Thanksgiving Day? Instead of falling down the rabbit hole of some family dynamic, remember things could be worse. Someone ran a stop sign a mile away from your home today. They hit an unsuspecting driver entering the intersection. They didn’t hit you. 

Happy Thanksgiving!
Vicki

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Lighten up, people, it’s Thanksgiving for God’s sake

It worries me that I’m using GPS to guide me around Minneapolis, a city I’ve known since I was a boy on a bicycle, and also that I text my wife from the next room, and when I get up in the morning Siri sometimes asks me, “What’s the matter? You seem a little down. Would you like to hear the Brandenburg Concerto No. 3?” And I say, Leave me alone, I just want to think, and she and I wind up having a conversation about delayed gratification.