The Power of Not Knowing

I don’t know if anyone will be interested in my story. It’s not a radically unique one, or even rare—gap years are more popular now than ever. But, four years ago, I felt pretty lost, constantly worrying about where life would take me after high school. I desperately wanted to know if others were as confused as I was. I wanted to walk up to my fellow classmates, take them by the shoulders, and ask:

“Do you know what you’re doing? Because I don’t!”

Looking back on it now, all that stress seems pointless. I was—and still am—so young! I had time to figure things out, to take it slow. But when you’re seventeen and stubborn, it’s hard to ignore the pressure. We’re urged to earn the straightest As, get into the best colleges, make the most money. The early bird gets the worm, right? 

But, wait—doesn’t slow and steady also win the race? 

Obviously, everyone’s path will look different. Mine consists of both early starts and lags behind. I graduated high school in three years instead of four, which seemed like a good idea at the time but has since turned into an annoying little detail to explain to mildly confused family members. I graduated early simply because I was determined I could. 

Growing up, I was always told I was smart. Gifted, if you will—at least, that’s what they labeled us kids in those “special” middle school classes. Unbeknownst to my middle school self, this label would put me at a disadvantage later. I now realize that studying and receiving good grades doesn’t make me especially smart; it just means I have good work ethic. But my status as the “smart kid” made it so I didn’t see myself as anything else. 

And so, at sixteen, I applied to colleges. A lot of them. Mostly prestigious, out-of-state, private schools. 

I was rejected from almost every single one. 

Each letter chipped away at my confidence, in larger chunks every time. If my so-called smartness wasn’t enough to get me into these schools, then what else did I have to offer? What made me special? Four years ago, it seemed like nothing did. I’d always had a fear of failure—maybe that’s why my grades were good; I was terrified of scoring anything less—and now I was living through my worst nightmare. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go to college, but that was all I had been prepared for. I’d never considered other options. 

High school was over, and for me, nothing was on the horizon.

It was then that I started doing some research into gap years, and different programs for students like me around the world—students who questioned what was supposed to come next, who were actively seeking out a kind of guidance that’s not offered in most public schools. I found a program based in New Hampshire, one that encouraged its participants to engage with nature, cooking, and artistic expression. This meant lots of camping trips and solo hikes through the woods, working in an industry-standard kitchen, and designing our own projects throughout the program—whether that be poetry, drawing, writing a cookbook, or building a chicken coop. 

I won’t lie, my gap year wasn’t some magical eat-pray-love experience.

At times, it could be really hard. During my first week away from home, hundreds and hundreds of miles between me and my family, I cried myself to sleep every night. Then, slowly, I began to enjoy myself. I made friends, and I finally came out of my shell.

I wasn’t in a traditional school environment anymore; my identity no longer depended on my grades. My independence had been ignited, and I was now learning exactly how to cultivate it.

It’s important to note that there was no mind-blowing breakthrough, no life-altering sudden realization. I didn’t necessarily “find” myself during my gap year, but afterwards, I had become better equipped with the tools to start looking.

That year didn’t change who I was entirely—nor did I want it to—but it was instrumental in teaching me how to be the person I am today: someone who embraces the idea of not knowing. 

Have you ever been asked if you know something—a musician, a TV show, a socio-political conflict—and you want to say yes, even if you don’t know anything about it, simply to fit in? To avoid the embarrassment that comes with being “out of the loop”?  I’ve done it, many times. In fact, I used to be obsessed with needing to know the answers to everything, even to questions I hadn’t been asked yet. To me, admitting that I didn’t know something felt like admitting defeat. 

But I was wrong. 

Better yet, I’m okay with being wrong. 

“I don’t know” is one of the most powerful phrases in our collective vocabulary, because it opens us up to the opportunity to learn.

There is so much out there I don’t know, which means that there is so much out there for me to learn. If nothing else, my gap year taught me this. We will all mess up, and stumble, and fall behind, but we should treat each of these missteps as experiences to grow from, because that is how progress is made. 

Being able to “take time off” is a privilege.

I’m privileged that my parents allowed me to go on a gap year. I’m privileged that I didn’t need to work my way through that year, or the years of school that followed. Now more so than ever, I’m realizing and acknowledging the extent of my own privilege. 

So, why not use it to learn? To teach others, and to allow others to teach you? There is a wide expanse of knowledge out there that I don’t know about. Before embarking on a gap year, this was daunting. Now, it’s exciting. Whether you’re in school or out of it, contemplating a gap year or currently on one, I believe it’s vital that we become comfortable with not knowing—as long as we’re open to the discomfort that sometimes comes with learning. 

Among many other things, my gap year taught me to include the phrase “I don’t know” into my everyday conversations. Since then, I’ve added “yet”. 

I don’t know… yet.