Knowing

Sometimes, I say "I don't know...."

"But what would the answer be if I did know?" I ask myself.

When I asked Elena if she liked Santa Claus, she said, "I don't know."  Then a beat.  "I like him when his eyes are closed in the picture."

The beat between not-knowing and knowing is about four seconds, long enough to formulate something to say that will satisfy a curious grandmother.

In her life, she'll know and not-know a million things.  She'll change her mind.  She'll get more information, she'll change,  she'll discover that some people (even Santa) aren't what they first appeared to be.  She'll see and know things I can't even imagine.

At different ages, different truths emerge. When a new thing happens (say, a good person does a bad thing--or a person we've disliked does a good thing), the new knowledge can shatter us until we put the pieces of the story together in a way that makes sense.

Then, what we know is more nuanced, more complex.  The line between good guys and bad guys isn't as simple as it is in the video games.

Lines between right and wrong are not as clear as I once thought.  Truth is not always self-evident to us all at the same time.

What I loved about writing group tonight was, as always, that each person brings pieces of knowledge and experience that gives me more to know and understand.