Making the Best of a Lifetime of Unknowns
Creative energy thrives on the unforeseeable
Even in the face of momentous events—whether that’s a consequential political election or the fate of an unsold novel—I never seriously wish to know the future.
I believe that the fortune tellers of legend—Pythia (the Oracle of Delphi), Teiresias the seer who reported unpleasant truths to Oedipus and others, and the disbelieved Trojan princess Cassandra—are burdened by a horrible curse.
Knowing the future, whether that’s an hour from now or 25 years from now, surely hobbles you in the present. If you already know how something—anything—will turn out, why lift a finger to help it along? And if the outcome horrifies you (the wrong winner, the perpetually unsold manuscript, or even your death foretold), how do you avoid falling into a dangerous gloom of apathy?
No, I’ll take the unknowns that confound, frighten, and frustrate me because they feed striving. When you don’t know what may happen, then anything may happen—and that uncertainty contains the seeds of hope.
That doesn’t mean that living with the unknown is easy. Yet humans have always found ways to accommodate the gaping maw of unknowns, if only so they could get through the day to feed and clothe themselves. (Sound familiar?)
We have generally left it to the philosophers and organizers of religions to grapple with the big, deep meanings of the unknown—and unseen—on our collective behalf, while the rest of us plan for the future (future with a small ‘f’) to the best of our feeble abilities, aware that we may be thwarted at any moment.
Or perhaps, not so aware. I love the phrase, She (or he or they) never saw it coming, because it reveals two truths about the unknown rubbing upon against one another. The first is that we are often blind to the bitter seeds we sometimes must reap, which we ourselves have sown. And also to the bald fact that no, we can never “see it coming” because the future may bring almost anything to our doorstep.
Looking out, looking in
When it comes to writing or making any art, the unknown is both friend and foe, but not in equal measure and the balance changes day by day.
Perhaps it’s impossible to make art without befriending the unknown, that is, we must invite the borderless and the invisible, the zeitgeist, to settle into our unconscious and make whatever mischief it can.
After all, what is “inspiration” or the “muse” but another name for the unknown, the unseen, and the indescribable that impels us to create?
The blank page or canvas is an unknown unto itself. You cannot be sure what content it may eventually hold until you create that content—and even then, you cannot yet know how and when you will reshape your original ideas. Unknowns have a way of chasing after themselves, as if down a corridor of mirrored hallways.
The unknown is also the creative’s friend in that it holds all doors open; we must believe in possibilities to conjure something new. The final result is tantalizing, and often just beyond our grasp until we actually arrive there.
At the same time, the unlimited volume of all we do not know, cannot foresee or be certain of, can also be crippling.
“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown,” said horror fiction master H.P. Lovecraft.
I don’t think that an artist’s fear of the unknown is necessarily tied to the creative process itself (or not always), but to the “unknowableness” of outcomes, such as: Am I talented (enough)? Will my art be good? Will it be valued? Can I build and sustain a career as an artist?
These may seem like quotidian concerns, but they loom so large among the pantheon of unknowns in an artist’s life. We are incapable of forecasting our own success, or our failure, for that matter, and thus, we must dwell in uncertainty that either or both are possible…at some point. This teeter-totter existence hardly inspires confidence, yet this is how it is.
So where does this leave us?
Knowing relatively little, mining our psyches and imaginations for whatever morsels we may conjure into existence.
Dwelling in a more or less permanent state of uncertainty, hoping for more wins than losses; for more joy than sorrow; for the stamina and confidence to create another day…and unable to predict whether, when, or how these hopes become reality.
And then there is a third option, of sorts, the liminal phase, where we perch between the known and unknown. As Aldous Huxley famously wrote, “There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.”
I guess I’ll aim for those doors every time. That seems like a good place to hunker down, right between the little I know and all that I do not know.
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WRANGLING THE DOUBT MONSTER: FIGHTING FEARS, FINDING INSPIRATION
“Bernstein’s insights are uplifting, actionable, and deeply resonant, making this a must-read for anyone ready to transform their inner fears into artistic strength."
—BookLife-Publishers Weekly