Most of us grew up in cultures that view ambiguity as the enemy. We revere science, laws, and self-crowned experts on social media. Even the parts of our lives that are inherently esoteric, like religion, usually come with some kind of rulebook. And I get it. Especially as someone with OCD, which thrives on uncertainty, I don’t want to hear “I don’t know” from a doctor or a boss any more than I want to hear it from a romantic partner or a loved one. 

“I don’t want to hear ‘I don’t know’ from a doctor or a boss any more than I want to hear it from a romantic partner or a loved one.”

I prefer a firm reality to ground me. Often, that’s true even if it’s not the reality I would have chosen. But avoiding — or reviling — something doesn’t make it go away. (Even if an entire society unites in pretending it does.) We will always not know more than we know, of course. To pretend otherwise is to turn our backs on an entire, sparkling sea of possible realities. 

One way to remedy this is to develop a neutral tolerance of uncertainty. But poet Rainer Maria Rilke challenges us to go further in his seminal compilation of “Letters to a Young Poet.” He wants us to love our questions: 

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

We could spend a very long time dissecting this beautiful passage. But for now, here’s what stands out to me: 

Just as uncertainty is part of being alive, living inside of that uncertainty is essential to our vitality. Rilke asks us to develop an intimacy with the unknown instead of clenching our teeth and bearing it. That’s our ticket to actually experiencing the marrow of life. 

“Just as uncertainty is part of being alive, living inside of that uncertainty is essential to our vitality.”

Even if we did go searching for the answers, he points out, we wouldn’t be able to embody them. We might passively receive the information we seek, but it’s not getting into our being. It’s not alchemizing our senses and changing the way we are. The only way is to welcome our questions to penetrate us the way that we hope our answers will. And then, Rilke points out, the answer might come at some point. 

Emely Rumble, a bibliotherapist who uses literature to help her clients heal, adds that Rilke is essentially asking us to surrender to the human condition, but to do it by “living in wonder and not fear.” She points out that though we are wired to grasp at control, we have very little of it. So Rilke suggests we learn to live with curiosity that makes our lives feel more “expansive….instead of becoming a prison of our own making.” 

Embracing the unknown 

I know this can all feel a bit heady. Rilke wrote it in early 1900s Europe, where old ideas about religion and life were being challenged, and existential questions may have looked different than they do today. So I sought out a mental health professional to help us contextualize Rilke’s advice for modern life. 

Dr. Maureen Sessa, a health psychologist at the Neuroscience Institute of Hackensack University Medical Center, helps individuals with various medical conditions adjust to and process their diagnoses. As part of her practice, she employs meaning-centered psychotherapy (MCP), a technique that helps patients discover and make meaning of what they’re experiencing. Given Rilke’s bent toward embracing our uncertain lives, I think Sessa’s perspective on his advice is valuable. 

“Sitting with our questions and allowing them to exist as they are is a way to promote greater self-kindness and self-compassion,” she tells me. “The unique ability to question is part of what makes us human…we can trust that our questioning is there for a reason, and we owe it to ourselves to find the beauty in that.”  

“Sitting with our questions and allowing them to exist as they are is a way to promote greater self-kindness and self-compassion.”

– Dr. Maureen Sessa, Neuroscience Institute of Hackensack University Medical Center

In practical terms, explains Sessa, this might look like engaging with the unknown while staying rooted in our current realities. Sort of like trying on different ideas about what life could mean or become, without attaching too heavily to any of them right now. The goal is to tune into our curiosity and allow it to guide us, rather than squashing it with the closest available answer. 

As someone who tends to over-intellectualize — and who is therefore an ideal candidate for Rilke’s advice — it helps me to consider engaging with the unknown in terms of how it feels in my body. For me, it feels like a light and open chest and a soft belly, with some gentle activation in my throat. It may feel different for you. But if it feels tight and constrained or alarming, you’re likely still clinging to your search for answers. 

“When we are seeking a way to obtain or maintain control, there is a sense of urgency to reduce or eliminate the distress in front of us,” says Dr. Sessa. “Healthy curiosity involves allowing space for whatever occurs, even if the ultimate answer is one we did not anticipate or like, or may not even exist at all.” 

Both Rilke and Dr. Sessa are telling us that the spirit in which we encounter our questions has an impact on how we experience the answers. If we can greet the unknown with just a touch more creativity or spaciousness, we may be able to metabolize the answer (whether it’s “good” or “bad”) with the same flexibility.

On the other hand, if we demand the answers too quickly, warns Dr. Sessa, we end up frustrated with a poor gauge for decisions. And we distance ourselves from understanding what we really want or need. Ironically, in an effort to alleviate the anxiety of not knowing, we often end up more anxious and confused than before. 

Loving our questions in modern times

Of course, most of us don’t try to circumnavigate uncertainty because we are inherently unwise or impatient. I don’t think that’s a fair judgment to put on ourselves. We live in the age of Google. Not to mention AI, urgent news headlines, and constant comparison on social media. We’re brought up in educational systems that value instant, black-and-white answers. And it’s usually no different when we enter the working world. I remember a boss telling me early in my career that even if I didn’t know the answer, I should always have an answer. That’s a perspective that cost me countless opportunities to learn.

We also have limited time to reflect and explore “existential” ideas, and — especially in the West — any type of discomfort (emotional or otherwise) is immediately branded as a problem. Not having the answers is perceived as unintelligent. Not seeking the answers is perceived as lazy. So how the heck do we learn to love our questions? 

“Not having the answers is perceived as unintelligent. Not seeking the answers is perceived as lazy. So how the heck do we learn to love our questions?”

I think we have to be a little stubborn here. And probably also lead by example. Someone has to make it safe to embrace not knowing in our homes, social circles and workplaces. So it might as well be us. 

As I write this, I’m watching my cat try to puzzle out a sound he hears outside. His ears are pricked, and his eyes are wide, but his stance is soft, and he’s purring. I think it’s fair to say he’s enjoying not knowing. Even watching this small act softens something in my chest. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could embody that for ourselves and for others? 

Here are a few ways we can try bringing this feeling into our lives more regularly: 

• Give ourselves a moment to pause, breathe, and reflect before answering a question. (Even if it’s just “What would you like from the coffee shop?”) 

• Give our uncertainty a name, and treat it like a beloved guest, so that we don’t push it away automatically. 

• Remind ourselves regularly that it’s normal to not know things, to be wrong about things, and to be new at things. It’s not a threat or a condemnation of our character. 

• Create time to reflect, which is an essential element of living our questions. A ten-minute walk or journaling session at the end of the day counts. 

• Shift our focus to exploration over solutions. Can we observe, absorb, and notice patterns without drawing immediate conclusions? 

• Notice what our bodies are telling us. A relaxed, alert body is typically a cue that we are on the right track, while a constricted, tense body is typically asking for something to be different. 

• Acknowledge that there are many things we will simply never know, and accept the fact that that makes life scarier. But notice that it also makes life more vast, mysterious, and interesting. 

We will still wake up tomorrow in a world obsessed with instant gratification and on-demand answers. It is the work of a lifetime to slow down and be present with the mysteries of life in the presence of this kind of commotion. 

“It is the work of a lifetime to slow down and be present with the mysteries of life.”

Of all the ways to use our energy, though, I think this one is especially worthwhile. I’ve not heard of anyone on their deathbed relishing in having all the answers. But I know people who feel satisfied that they’ve really, truly lived. 

We are not computers or textbooks. We are sensitive beings designed to move slowly and windingly through our lives using all of our senses. There is no rush to have everything complete and tied up in a bow. So let yourself sink into the delicious questions and feel yourself fill with grace.

Nicole Ahlering is an animal adoption counselor at her local humane society. She’s also a writer. (So basically, everything she wanted to be when she grew up!) When she’s not working, she’s hanging out with her kitties and her partner, drinking iced espresso, or reading something non-fiction.