When I was growing up, school rewarded us for what we knew. We were tested on facts and praised for correct answers. No one got brownie points for saying, “I don’t know the answer to that—it’s something I’d like to ponder for a while.”
I earned three graduate degrees by excelling at knowing things.
Fast forward four decades, and I now find myself learning the art of not knowing—sitting with uncertainty, lack of clarity, indecision, and even conflicting perspectives. I still love learning, but when it comes to the big questions facing society—and in the aftermath of the U.S. presidential elections—I find myself saying, “I don’t know, and I’m not going to try to know—not today.”
Last year, there was a hilarious skit on Saturday Night Live featuring Nate Bargatze, with his pitch-perfect comedic timing. In the skit, Washington tries to explain to his troops the oddities of American naming and measurement conventions. When asked why things were done in such peculiar ways, his response was often: “Nobody knows.”
The phrase “Nobody knows” became an instant cultural meme—and honestly, I’ve found it a helpful one to hold onto when I hear endless speculation about the future.
Becoming Agnostic
When I first met my husband Steve, he loved cars and had no interest in God. For me, it was the opposite. Our early arguments were absurd: he’d say, “I’m not taking orders from some old bearded white guy in the sky!” (His Sunday school had been full of autocratic, divine daddy figures.) I’d try to explain that that God wasn’t mine, either.
Steve liked to call himself an atheist—until a friend corrected him:
“Steve, you don’t know enough to be an atheist. You’re an agnostic—someone who doesn’t know.”
The word “agnostic” often gets used to mean “doesn’t believe in God,” but its Greek roots tell a different story. Agnostos means “unknown” or “unknowable.” Being agnostic isn’t about rejection; it’s about openness—acknowledging what we don’t know and remaining willing to learn.
This agnostic perspective feels like a wise way to hold the future. It doesn’t mean giving up on what we hope for—it means giving up the illusion of certainty about how things will unfold.
Unlearning Certainty
Becoming agnostic may require unlearning certain ideas we’ve long held as true, while also staying open to new possibilities. It’s not about erasing all that we know but embracing the fact that some things are unknowable—at least for now.
That doesn’t mean I want to become a blank slate, as if that were even possible. I trust my own sense of what is beautiful, good, and kind. I still hold a faith, like Einstein’s, who famously said (slightly paraphrased):
“God doesn’t play dice with the universe.”
My belief in the goodness of people and the benevolence of the universe doesn’t contradict my openness to not knowing.
Instead, it strengthens my ability to sit with uncertainty.
An Agnostic Faith
Believe me, I want to help restore goodness in this country. I think the Light will prevail.
But I’m not interested in predictions, speculation, or endless opinions about what’s going to happen next. Instead, I’d rather be like a turtle for a while—find my center, calm my jarred nervous system, help where I can, and focus on what brings me joy.
Creative expression, for example, isn’t a luxury—it’s vital to life.
For now, I want to practice not knowing what’s going to happen. Let the future reveal itself to me in small bites, in unexpected ways.
Let me have faith, stay open, and trust the unfolding of what’s to come. And when the time comes to act, I’ll do my part.
