From a young age, many of us fear being as someone who dosn’t know. Perhaps we are so afraid of being seen as unintelligent or unacceptable that we try to bluff our way through conversations, hoping the other person won’t realize we’re lost. Studies have shown that when children are posed with unanswerable questions, they often invent answers to appear knowledgeable rather than admit their ignorance. This behavior tends to persist into adulthood; for some, admitting “I don’t know” becomes one of the hardest things to say. We all know that feeling. Often, halfway through our explanation, we realize we have no idea what we’re talking about, and we wish we could simply say, “I don’t know.” Instead, we revert to our childhood selves, dancing around with made-up answers, hoping no one will catch on.

Pretending to be someone who “knows” comes with its own set of challenges and pitfalls. When we assume we know how things are, we inadvertently close ourselves off to countless other possibilities. Our ideas and perceptions become rigid, narrowing our worldview. Another issue with this fear of not knowing is that we can never be entirely certain that what we believe is reality. To paraphrase Mark Twain, many think they understand something that simply isn’t true.

To clarify, the “not knowing” I’m addressing is not about confusion or crippling doubt. It’s not just the distinction between knowing and not knowing—like knowing the capital of Nebraska or grasping a specific set of philosophical principles, such as the Four Noble Truths. When I say “I don’t know,” I refer to an attitude of openness and curiosity, such as “I don’t know! Let’s find out!” or “Let’s keep exploring and see what unfolds.” This is the kind of not knowing that embodies faith. As Suzuki Roshi expressed in “Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind,” “In beginner’s mind, there are many possibilities; in the expert mind, there are few.” A beginner’s mindset captures the essence of not knowing. For those trapped in the mindset of “knowing,” the horizon shrinks; questions are already answered, everything is settled, and the world feels fixed. Ultimately, the pursuit of knowledge may not lead to enlightenment but could instead be a fast track on the “Dukkha Express.”

So, how can we cultivate the non-dual spirit of “I don’t know”? The first step is to simply be willing to embrace not knowing, to let go of the need to always have answers. I have found that the world feels lighter when I am free from the pressure to know. I become more patient, less stressed, and more open. Here are two concrete practices we can adopt to nurture this sense of not knowing.

First, Buddhist teacher Gil Fronsdal recommends attaching “I don’t know” to as many of our thoughts as possible. For example, when we have thoughts like, “This is good,” or “This is bad,” we might reframe them as “I don’t know if this is good,” or “I don’t know if this is bad.” As he suggests, “The phrase ‘I don’t know’ questions the authority of everything we think.” This allows us to release fixed ideas, fostering curiosity and creativity. The simple act of using this phrase can help challenge our deeply held beliefs and “pull the rug out from under our most cherished concepts.” Embracing not knowing expands our world, making us more compassionate, patient, kind, and honest and helping cultivate equanimity.

The last practice I recommend for nurturing the spirit of “I don’t know” is the act of bowing. James Ishmael Ford has explored the connection between not knowing and bowing in depth.

“Not knowing,” he writes, “is the essence of the ancient spiritual practice of bowing. The bow, I suggest, can open our hearts and take us to places we never dreamed possible—into a transformative, endless world called not knowing. This not knowing possesses boundless creative potential. To use another metaphor, just one or two ideas are not sufficient in this realm. The moment we surrender to not knowing and bow to life, we discover a seemingly bottomless well bubbling with life-giving waters.”

I raise my hands in gassho and bow to each of you. I’d like to conclude with the words of Zen teacher Dizang from the 9th century:

“Not knowing is most intimate.”

Namu Amida Butsu.