NB add Calvyn & Hobbs comic

Just Enough Ignorance to Begin Anyway

“I read Calvin & Hobbes, had a coffee, and now I’m going to lovingly pick a fight with the universe”.

So the saying goes.

But honestly — how much bliss can one person handle before it starts looking suspicious?

Calvin had a point.
A fat little scoop of confidence, mixed with just enough ignorance to keep you from overthinking yourself into a coma, can absolutely get you places. Sometimes too much “expert advice,” too much experience, too much knowing-better-before-you-even-begin — it fogs up the window. You stop seeing the thing you wanted and start seeing all the reasons you’re apparently not qualified to want it.

And then there’s the other kind of ignorance — the sneaky one.
The one that pretends not to notice the symptoms.

The unanswered messages.
The meetings where everyone speaks fluent politeness but nobody says the actual thing.
The relationship that has started making a funny little noise under the bonnet.
The body whispering, then tapping, then banging a saucepan lid because apparently we didn’t hear the first six warnings.

We do it everywhere, don’t we?

At work, we call it “keeping the peace.”
In relationships, we call it “not making a fuss.”
In communication, we call it “probably fine.”
With health, we call it “I’m just tired.”

Meanwhile, the symptoms are there like tiny unpaid interns waving clipboards.

Ayurveda, in its old-world sensible shoes, would probably raise an eyebrow here. Because it doesn’t wait for the house to be on fire before asking why the kitchen smells smoky. It looks for imbalance early — in the digestion, the sleep, the mood, the skin, the tongue, the cravings, the weather inside your own little kingdom.

Not in a dramatic “panic immediately” way.
More in a “darling, perhaps the body has been sending memos” way.

So perhaps the trick is not to worship ignorance, but to know which kind we’re using.

And yet.

Ignorance is also where fear likes to rent a room.
It’s where indecision keeps its shoes.
It’s where disempowerment sits at the kitchen table, nodding along like it owns the place.

Because nothing grows mold faster than being overly pleased with your own opinions. When your little pile of knowledge becomes the whole universe, your choices shrink, your freedom gets a low ceiling, and every decent conversation starts needing a passport to get in.

Not exactly the road to happiness, is it?

But then again — and there’s always a then again — some of the best things happen when you don’t know too much. When you leap before the committee in your head has finished taking minutes. When you make the call, take the risk, stop clutching the instruction manual, and let the moment have its say.

A little ignorance to begin anyway?
Wonderful. Pack snacks.

But ignorance as a way of avoiding what is already speaking to us?

That’s not bliss.
That’s a bill with interest.

So maybe the real question isn’t whether ignorance is bliss.

Maybe it’s:

How much bliss can you stand?

Or maybe:

How much truth can you carry without using it as a weapon against yourself?

Somewhere between knowing everything and knowing nothing, there’s a little doorway.
You find your own way through it.

That’s the trick.
That’s the choice.
That’s the whole gorgeous mess.