Knowing & not knowing

uncertainty & understanding

In October 2023, in the post “Maybe…,” I shared “The Story of the Chinese Farmer. ” The gist of the fable is that a number of things happen to a farmer and his family. The farmer’s experiences initially seem to be “bad” or negative but then have “good” or positive consequences. When his neighbors proclaim either “how horrible” or “how wonderful” to each event, the farmer’s response is always “maybe.”

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Who knows?

We don’t know.

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Two weeks ago, I wrote about seasonal traditions (“Hope and courage”) associated with February 2nd. Groundhog Day. Candlemas. Imbolc. All originated with our ancestors’ need to break up winter with celebrations and rituals that look toward spring. There’s a yearning to focus on the hope of spring, even if it’s a ways off.

This past week, we’ve had some of our most significant snowfall where I live. I don’t know when winter weather will give way to spring. It can snow as late as April or May. However, I do know that eventually spring weather will creep in. Perhaps just a day or two here or there. One step forward, two steps back. Often, we experience the briefest of springtime and then leap straight into the heat of summer. It will happen. I don’t know when or how much. I just know it’ll be.

The cycles of the natural world teach us to move through uncertainty with the understanding that each season will, eventually, pass.

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I’ve been musing a lot about uncertainty recently because of the times we live in. When I read the news many days, I think, as Dorothy Parker (apparently) said, “What fresh hell is this?”

We are in uncertain times in more ways than one. We can’t know the outcomes of much of what’s happening in the world, from climate change to geopolitical shifts to technological transformations and much more.

I often think that the older I get, the less I know and the more I understand.

I don’t know what’s going to happen.

I do understand that there are many good people in the world working hard to make our planet a just and kind environment for all beings.

Sure, that’s a dreamy, idealistic, intangible sort of thought.

It’s a starting point. An inspiration. A model. A call to action.

To do the good work (good trouble as John Lewis would say) required of the moment.

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To be clear, I have a lot of anxiety about a lot of things right now. That’s partly why I write this stuff, to keep me anchored in hope.

I also have a lot of privilege in that I won’t be as affected by the winds of change as others will be. At least in the near future.

Writing is one of the ways, I dare to say, that I can help.

To remind us to hope.

To remind us to do what part we can to help our neighbors, our communities, and the world.

Writing’s not the only thing I need to do, but it’s one thing I can do.

What’s one thing you can do?

Let’s do it, my friends.

Let’s keep doing what we can.

With care and gratitude,

Mary

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P.S. There are many resources available on activism and on how to volunteer in our communities. On what we can do locally or globally. On how to help neighbors or strangers. I won’t replicate here. However, whatever your thoughts on our current political climate, please remember that our elected official work for us. It’s important to let them know how we feel about the direction of our country and the decisions in which they have a say. I’ve been using the app 5 Calls and invite you to do the same.

P.P.S. On another note, this weekend I’ve been finding beauty, joy, and revitalizing energy in the freshly fallen snow. Remember also to take care of yourselves. Remember also to find glimmers in each day.