“Humility helps us to understand this obvious truth: No one knows it all; no one is ignorant of everything.” -Paulo Freire, “On the Indispensable Qualities of Progressive Teachers for Their Better Performance”

                Twelve days ago, when my love and I got married, we didn’t have an officiant. We welcomed people and exchanged vows ourselves. Most of the ceremony itself (before the tamales!) was our family group of 22 sitting in a circle beneath the redwoods. Each person shared a thought or a celebration or a wish, or something else they wanted to say. I loved listening. I loved the branching, rooting, connecting of our voices.
                I love living Freire’s humility and obvious truth, too. It feels so right. At the same time, when I hear someone say “no one knows everything,” there’s usually a kind of sting to the thought. Like it’s embarrassing, or like the statement itself is barbed. I get why. So many of the cultures I live in value a kind of performative knowing and devalue uncertainty, confusion, complexity. I spend a lot of time at a university, and it’s amazing how many professors won’t admit what they don’t know. When I talk to my friends in tech or finance or law or medicine or…well, you get it, and my friends in those spaces say something similar. The not-knowing can be portrayed as a threat. A failure. A weakness.
                I loved that, with our joined families at our wedding, not knowing anywhere close to everything just felt like a celebration. Of course these wonderful people had insights to share that were different from others’ insights. Of course some of them saw things I didn’t see. Sometimes their voices brushed past my thoughts, our worldviews interweaving like roots below the ground, and sometimes our branches reached off in different directions, and all of it was wonderful to share.