By Brianna Kocka
I was told from a young age that I was entitled to know—that if I accepted, I had the keys to all of the knowledge the kingdom possessed. That I was special. That essentially, I could be omnipotent, that I could be a god.
But a revelation came to me, it came to me at exactly 1:47 am on a Friday. I was struggling because my partner lives life on a trampoline and I live life on a concrete slab; that is to say he views the world as fluid, and I view the world as absolute. He touches the sky and I freeze in cold sweat on the hard floor. And as we spoke about relativity, about constants, about equations, about the bending of time and light I realized someone once told me—or maybe I told myself—knowledge is light that brightens your path to certainty.
But it’s not.
Now, I realize that this is not a new thought. Socrates said that all he knew was that he knew nothing; I’ve been repeating his words in my head like a drum beat ever since I heard them in Philosophy 101 seven years ago. But it was that day, that early Friday morning at 1:47 am that I finally learned what was holding me back: that my objective knowledge of not knowing was ripped from my hands as I realized yet again (and maybe this time for real) that I am not entitled to know.
That I am in the dark.
And maybe, just maybe the darkness is also the light.