A Little Knowledge

Some people know a lot about a little, others know a little about a lot. He knows a little about a little.

He's ignorant, but he isn't stupid. He knows he doesn't know. He just doesn't want to know what he doesn't know. He runs from knowledge.

Try to tell him something he doesn't know, he recoils. Persist, and he dismisses you. Or he turns his back and walks away. He really doesn't want to know.

What does he know? I don't know, but he speaks in slogans. He's a walking motivational poster. They downloaded the company line into his larynx. At first I thought he was the ultimate company man, a total tool. I'd never heard anyone actually talk in press release before.

Then as I got to know him, I began to think otherwise. He gets by okay, but he doesn't excel. He never stretches. Stays well within his comfort zone. A surface skimmer, not one to dive in. He thinks so far inside the box, it's not even thinking. He doesn't even bother to restate the obvious. He just states it.

I changed my view, started thinking of him as Mr. CYA. After all, you're not responsible for what you don't know, and he's careful not to know anything, so he's never responsible.

Today I'm not so sure about the Mr. CYA part. I sense something more inert inside his head. It isn't an act. He isn't consciously sticking his head in the sand. No, he really believes in what he says. His slogans? They're not slogans to him. Emblazon them on a tote bag or print them on a lapel pin, and in his mind you sanctify them. They become the tried-and-true secrets of a successful life.

Life is simple, at least for him. You people with your inconvenient facts and your counter-facts, your multi-level analyses, your shades of grey, your on-the-one-hands and on-the-other-hands, you just complicate things. Needlessly. Better minds have already thought this through. So stick with the program and everything will be just fine. Don't worry, be happy.

And he is happy. He's safe and secure in the warm embrace of his certainty. He sits in bliss watching the rest of us wig out. He's straight and true while we zig-zag back and forth. With all our questioning, all our doubting, all our worrying, is it any wonder he's so dismissive, so condescending?

He probably thinks we're the ones who run from knowledge.

He's wrong, of course. We can't all outsource our brains. Someone has to think, to question, to doubt, to worry. It's just not him. Not his department. He's carved that out of his job description. I'll bet he's carved it out of his life description.

He fascinates me, so I study him. A life built on delusions and denials, that's quite a trick to pull off. I don't know how he does it, but he certainly makes it look easy.

Some days I even envy him. I wish I could just turn off my mind, relax and float downstream. But I can't. I see too much. I drill too deep. I throw myself into what I do. And I care too much. My curse is to always worry. I'm never secure enough to rest. It isn't easy, this life I lead, and I certainly make it look hard.

No pain, no gain. That's sounds like something he'd say, except he gains without the pain. Meanwhile I'm losing. My pain ages me prematurely. My hair falls out, my stomach-lining burns, my blood pressure rises, my arteries harden. I don't sleep. And my mood grows darker while he comfortably strolls on the sunny side, always on the sunny side of life.

The unexamined life is not worth living. Ignorance is bliss. Which is it? At this point, I'd rather not know.