When we sit down to watch a movie or read a book,
We don't want anyone to spoil it for us by telling us how it ends.
We love the unexpected twists in the plot and enjoy a surprise ending,
Which is why we watch live sports instead of simply checking the final score.
The thrill comes from not knowing what will happen next.
At the same time,
However,
We are obsessed with wanting to know what the future holds.
From parents wanting to know the gender of their unborn babies,
To asking them as early as five years later,
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Strangers ask,
Where do you see yourself ten years from now?
And some people even pay fortune tellers for a glimpse into the future.
Most of our anguish stems from our discomfort with uncertainty.
Organized religions attempt to ease that discomfort by telling us exactly where we came from and where we are going.
Eastern philosophies try to ease our discomfort by acknowledging that while we can't know where we came from or where we are going,
Rest assured that we will be okay no matter what.
Both paths demand predictability from an arbitrary world.
Mindfulness,
On the other hand,
Invites us to embrace uncertainty and celebrate not knowing what comes next,
How the movie is going to end,
Or who will win the game.
Is it possible that nirvana is simply letting go of the need to know?
Although the path of mindfulness makes sense,
It goes against the narrative around which we have constructed our lives with schedules,
Written contracts,
Savings and retirement accounts,
Promised rings,
Investments,
And other plans for a future that may never come.
Having grown up in a war-torn part of the world,
We never knew when the next bus was going to be blown up or if we would one day finally wake up to peace in the Middle East.
Both felt imminent.
And in romantic relationships,
When your partner says,
We need to talk,
They may propose marriage or tell you they are leaving,
Nothing is certain.
In fact,
Them leaving could turn out to be the best turning point in your life,
Or maybe marriage ends up being the dream come true.
Nobody knows,
Because knowledge is an illusion.
The day we admit that we never truly know anything is perhaps our day of liberation from anguish.
Sometimes,
What didn't work out for you,
Really works out for you.
In order to practice letting go of my personal need to know,
I've been doing a little experiment with my meditation timer.
It is set to ring a bell one time at the start of each meditation session,
And three times when the session is over.
The timer has presets for a three-minute session,
Five minutes,
Ten,
Fifteen,
Thirty minutes,
And an hour.
Until recently,
I selected the duration for my meditation and then set down for that predetermined length of time.
Now,
I click on one of the preset timers with my eyes closed,
The bell chimes once to begin the meditation,
And I have no idea if it will chime again in three minutes or in an hour.
I just keep my eyes closed until it does.
It was uncomfortable at first,
But now I find it exciting.
To further practice letting go of that need to know,
I read books without even glancing at the back cover,
I watch movies without first seeing their trailers,
I say goodbye to the people I love as if we will never see each other again,
Which makes seeing them again the following week all that more exciting,
If it happens,
And I consider every day a blessing so that I don't take any of them for granted.
This experiment has transformed my life in many positive ways.
It eliminates expectations,
Enriches relationships,
Deepens my practice,
And amplifies my sense of gratitude.
I remind myself that the only thing I know for certain is that I don't know anything for certain.
I'm learning to love not knowing when the meditation bell will chime,
How long the relationships will last,
Or when I'm going to die.
So even if you somehow know what the future holds,
Don't tell me.
I don't want to know.
