On Thursday, for World Suicide Prevention Day, I told you my own story. If you have not heard it yet, it is below. It is fine to leave it for a day when you feel steady. And if suicide has touched your life recently, it may not be the week to listen at all. That is fine too.
The question that kept me here was not one I could answer. What will I miss? I did not know. I still don’t. I could not have told you then that there would be a podcast, or a granddaughter growing up, or you, reading this on a Sunday. The future had to stay open for the question to work.
We treat not knowing as a fault. A gap to be filled, fast, with anything. And I have come to think the gap is where the growing happens.
Some things we do know. What is in the fridge. The children’s dates of birth. Whether the kettle is on. And the tested things. Water boils at a hundred degrees. Gravity works. The climate is changing. Those have been asked and checked ten thousand times, and the answer has not moved. Scientists still call gravity a theory, not because they doubt it, but because they are not arrogant enough to turn 99.9 percent into a hundred. That is the door left open a crack, on purpose.
So this is not a letter about doubting what has been tested. Doubting that is not an open mind. It is a closed one wearing a different hat.
It is about the other pile. The things we are sure of and are not. What someone meant by that text. Why he did what he did. What she really thinks of us. Whether we are a good driver. Nine out of ten of us think we are better than average, which does not add up however you do the maths. We spend half our lives certain about what is going on in other people’s heads, and we have never once been inside one.
And then the big ones. Why are we here? Does there need to be a purpose at all? What is mine? What comes after? Whether anyone is listening when we ask. I am not sure about God. I have been a terrible Buddhist for years. And I have noticed that the people I trust most on the big questions are the ones who can say “I don’t know” without flinching.
A closed mind already has the answer to every question. It was told, and it stopped there. An open mind is an unnerving place to live. It is also the only kind that can learn anything.
Three thousand years ago somebody wrote a hymn about how the world began, and ended it with a shrug. Who really knows? Perhaps even the one who made it does not know. If that was good enough for the Rig Veda, it is good enough for me. I believe they were talking about some kind of creator of existence. Who really knows?
Pick one thing you are certain about this week. Not the kettle. Something about a person. What they think of you, or why they did that thing. Then ask, how do I actually know that? Don’t answer. Let the question sit for a minute, like a cup of tea you have not picked up yet.
What is the question you stopped asking because you decided you already knew? Hit reply and tell me.
Not knowing is a gift. Certainty feels safe, but it comes with no guarantee. Leave the door slightly open.
Much love, Steven
Stillness in the Storms 177, What Will I Miss? My Story for World Suicide Prevention Day. The day I nearly wasn’t here, and the one question that turned me round. Take it gently. The helplines are at the top of the notes. Listen here or on Apple Podcasts.
Inner Peace Meditations 112, Calm Inside the Not Knowing: A Meditation for Uncertainty. This letter, as a practice. A bench, the weather coming and going, and the part of you that has never once needed to know what comes next. Listen here or on Apple Podcasts. And a new one, Gates Not Walls, the meditation to go with last week’s letter on boundaries, lands this morning wherever you get the podcast.
Thank you to Jess, David, Angi, Jeroen, Jose and Jill, and Helen, who supported my work this week, and to the anonymous supporters and everyone on Insight Timer. You all keep the podcasts free from adverts.
If you would like to support, listen to the podcasts, or just say hello: stevenwebb.uk