I was trying to think of what to share with my Karen's Notes list today.
And the truth is, i don’t know.
I’ve never pretended to have all the answers - these notes simply share what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling and I hope they help encourage a few.
But after considering this topic and that topic, and thinking “no I already wrote about that” or “everyone in the world is writing about that” or “that’s not what I want to say”, I sat down and admitted I don’t know what to write.
I don’t know what to say. How to help. What to do, sometimes.
Most days I simply get on with the work before me (which I’m so grateful for). I’ve even begun to settle into a weird new temporary normal which is odd in some of its similarity to my old normal. Quiet times, walking in the mornings, working from home, Zoom calls, Facetimes with friends and family, writing content, helping clients. Some of it is the same, but all of it feels imbued with this strange oddness, this new different which changes every day.
And I am sticking with my pattern of Karen’s Notes, but today I don’t know what to say.
And then I thought about how maybe that’s the message.
I don’t know.
You don’t know.
We all as a world, gloriously in some ways, don’t know.
It’s a collective admission of the unknown. That as much as we plan and consider and try and forecast and analyse based on today, it’s all going to change again tomorrow in ways no human could have foreseen.
And that’s okay.
Because the truth is, we never knew.
We were never these paragons of wisdom and knowledge - and even though we were aware of our own humanity and most of us didn’t pretend we knew it all, still, we felt like we knew a lot. Those of us who are business owners knew the patterns and were able to predict fairly well based on those. Mothers, fathers, government leaders, teachers, nurses - whatever your role, you knew some things. We had expertise and things to base our decisions on and historical patterns and were able to plan.
Now we just take it one day at a time. Our daily bread, as it were.
What do we do today? Whatever is before us. And do that to the best of our ability - whether it’s resting or working or writing or sending emails or playing with the kids or leaving them on screentime or having virtual drinks with friends or reading a book or sitting out in the sunshine (if you have some) and staring at the sky.
And when you catch yourself thinking, for the thousandth time in a week that’s felt like a year, “I really don’t know”...
Welcome to the collective unknown. We’re glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re here.
I know that, for sure.
(These Notes are emailed out every Saturday. If you’d like to be on the list, sign up here.)