I have no idea what I’m doing…

I wandered into an antique store on Magazine Street in New Orleans last March with my three daughters.  It was organized and well maintained yet had the inevitable smells of dust and age.  As a visual learner, I often get physically fatigued after walking through places like this - so much to see - my brain gets tired with all there is to process.  At one point, I turned a corner and spotted a glass case with a lock.  Inside there was a pin that I knew was meant for me.  The black background and all caps gold print proudly proclaimed, “I Have No Idea What I’m Doing”. 

At the time I was a newly single, divorced, mother of teens with full time parenting responsibility, climbing out of pandemic business debt while the service industry continued to recover.  Everything in my life was upside-down and this tiny pin captured the enormity of how I was feeling.  And while 8 months have gone by, I find that small statement pretty much sums up life in general.

As a little girl, I often found myself in the face of a new experience or problem with rarely a memory of someone standing alongside of me helping me to figure things out.  Whether I chose solitude or found myself without human resource, I can not recall.  What I do remember is leaning into my life until I found a solution with hopes of the greatest outcome.  

Recently, a discussion ensued at work among a few of us where one of my staff commented, “Lisa is not a hand holder”.  I had to confess this to be true, although not for a lack of interest in wanting to walk alongside someone to help them learn.  I simply had no recollection of having someone in my life that had done that for me and this was something I never learned how to do.  Life required me to muscle it out if I wanted results and my brain wrongfully assumes that everyone has the ability to do the same.

The fact that I never learned how to “hand-hold” speaks to how my brain navigated little Lisa through life.  She became resilient and resourceful because she had to.  The more challenged she became, the more creative she grew in resourcing herself for success.  And now here I am, at the age of 48, with three incredible daughters, a successful business and a beautiful life and I joyfully have no idea what I’m doing.  It’s a new admission and I am happy to own it.  

As I enter more deeply into the therapeutic world of mindfulness, connecting with my inner child and healing through big “T” and little “t” trauma, I realize that my life experience has allowed my brain to develop values, relational styles and belief systems that are unique to me.  And this goes for everyone.  We often bypass this concept and go through life believing someone is wrong because they live differently or we get frustrated because we can’t see eye to eye.  We go through our life “should”ing on people instead of recognizing that we all begin and end in very different places.  And everyday I am realizing the beauty in our differences - and not just beauty, but incredible freedom in accepting and being ok that people live with different values than I do.  In fact, as an Enneagram 5, I find this incredibly fascinating as I observe the people around me.

I am drawn toward those that think they have life figured out.  People that believe they are important because they have a leg up on life in one way or another.  I have this inner sadistic urge to mess with their thought process.  Most recently, I’ve encountered an older woman who comes across as quite prescriptive with her interactions and her answers to all of life’s problems. It’s fun to rattle her thought cage with some curious questions.  She approached me after our most recent interaction and tried to explain herself.  I simply told her I enjoy asking questions that make people think.  She seemed so uncomfortable with the idea that I would view her as “less than” instead of how she wanted me to see her.  And honestly, I appreciate who she is regardless of her answers.  I simply want her to admit she doesn’t know everything.

And then there’s my dad, the engineer (God love him).  Everything fits together as it should in his brain.  He speaks in absolutes and definitives.  The know-it-all of know-it-alls.  I’ve always risen to the challenge of having the last word with him since I was young.  As it turns out, I’ve embraced myself as a know-it-all-until-I-don’t when it comes to practical things.  And my dad now rises to the challenge of my discussions about the human heart, the heart of God and our place in the world.  He was the first know-it-all that I tinkered with.  It’s encouraging to see him grow in compassion toward himself and others as he softens against the backdrop of very American expectations of looking the part.

I love asking the questions, “Who told you that” and “What would happen if..” as I listen to people who tend to be focusing on things that will not change their unfulfilling trajectory.  Their response to these questions is like watching them turn that that colorful childhood toy upside down - the one with all the tiny pieces that fall through layer upon hole-filled layer that fill their ears with the sound of a rainstick as each piece falls.  They just keep falling and the sound is mesmerizing.  There is no simple summary to this thought, but sometimes it’s ok to let things find their way as they land and we may just breathe deeper as they fall.  When we begin to remove the word “should” from our vocabulary, our chances for new beginnings grows.

Sometimes admitting that we don’t have all the answers allows our shoulders to drop and our minds to stop racing.  Who told us we had to have it all figured out?  What would happen if we didn’t always have an answer?  What if we embraced the ambiguity of life instead of always trying to solve it?   What if we took less time landing and rediscovered the wonder that we naturally experienced as a child?  One of the most courageous things we can do in life is to admit that we still have a lot to learn and we don’t have all the answers.  

As I enter this Monday morning with a renewed sense of self as I reflect on my New Orleans treasure, I once again drop my shoulders, take a deep breathe and begin again, having no idea what I’m doing.

There is not much better for me than sharing a good meal and a bottle of wine around a table of friends who walk toward their fears in search of a solution; those willing to have meaningful conversations alongside unapologetic laughter about all the things we do not know or understand.  Here’s to the life-long learners with open hearts and the willingness to admit that we have no idea what we’re doing.