There’s comfort in knowing and freedom in choosing not to know

A few times per month I deliver training courses at a local training organisation. The routine in the morning is always the same. I jump in the car, connect my phone and Google Maps appears on the display. I select the location, which is usually at the top because it is one of my most frequented destinations. It tells me which route I should take, and most importantly, how long it will take me to get to my destination on this particular day.

I know how long it generally takes anyway. It’s usually about thirty minutes, sometimes more, sometimes less. I always aim to arrive with at least half an hour to spare before the training starts, so I can set up, get ready and relax beforehand.

While I’m driving, I notice something interesting. During the journey, I’m constantly looking at the map screen, seeing whether my journey is on track, or whether the estimated time of arrival has changed. If the estimated drive time increases, I feel a flicker of annoyance. If it decreases, I notice a minor thrill of knowing that I’ll be there earlier, giving me extra time to relax before the course commences.

I find this interesting because the time of arrival really doesn’t matter that much. If I arrive at 8:20am or 8:30am, the difference is negligible. Sure, I may be able to respond to some emails or chat to some colleagues before training begins, but these aren’t critical. Even if I arrive at 8:40am, I’ll still be able to set up and be ready in time, and I’ve never arrived later than that, so major delays haven’t been an issue.

So why is it that I feel the need to know exactly when I’m going to arrive?

Why do I monitor my journey time so closely, when the outcome has such low stakes?

And why do I feel the need to follow the journey plan suggested to me? I know exactly how to get to the destination without needing direction.

I think it’s because I’ve become accustomed to being able to know these things, and when I don’t know them, it feels uncomfortable.

There’s comfort in knowing.

It is comforting knowing when you’re going to arrive at a destination. It’s also comforting knowing that you are taking the optimal route – you aren’t wasting any time – you are optimising your day.

We have become accustomed to knowing almost everything.

We can be fairly certain as to what the weather is going to be like for the next week. We know exactly when our packages are going to arrive at the front door. We can search for any answer to almost any question and be fairly sure that it’s the right one.

That’s why when we don’t know something, it’s a jarring experience.

I’ve noticed when I’m coaching or training leaders, there’s a growing tendency for needing a perfect answer to their problems.

How do I motivate this employee?

How can I stop them being disruptive?

How do I get the executive team to do what I want?

There’s an assumption that there’s going to be some sort of tool, technique or model that they can apply to solve the problem. After all, we can solve almost every other problem in life.

In reality, there is no way to know these answers for sure. Of course there are ideas and tools that may help, but the only way you’ll really know is by trying things and seeing what happens.

Why wouldn’t you want to know?

From a pragmatic perspective, what’s the problem in knowing the answer whenever you can? Surely if the answer is available to you, wouldn’t you just take it every time?

After all, humans are wired to be alert to danger. Uncertainty is a form of danger, because with uncertainty comes risk. So when we can minimise risk and increase certainty, we’re likely to feel more comfortable.

If I can use Google Maps to know the optimal route to my destination, why wouldn’t I choose to follow it, instead of risking spending additional time waiting in traffic when I don’t need to? Why would I arrive at the station to take the train ten minutes early, when I can get there at exactly the right time? And when I can look up the answer to any question on my phone, why would I deprive myself of that option?

Some people make the argument that we are deskilling ourselves with our reliance on technology. This argument has gained traction with the introduction of the latest AI tools, which can seemingly do a lot of the thinking for us.

I agree with this argument – that we are gradually deskilling ourselves to a degree. When you start to use tools to replace the hard work of thinking, you’ll eventually become unused to needing to think. I’ve noticed how easily I will sometimes use AI or Google to find an answer, when I could conceivably come up with the answer myself if I tried a little.

However, it’s hard to argue that we should go backwards and actively stop using technology to help us. As nice as it might feel longing for the “good old days”, I don’t long for the days where I needed to wait for a minute to dial up to the internet and had my connection cut off when somebody picked up the phone.

Another reason why it’s nice not to know.

Recently I decided that my perplexing reliance on Google Maps had gone too far. I chose not to connect my phone and instead followed the route that seemed the most sensible on the day.

In fact, recently I went so far as to buy a “dumb phone” that has no apps or data connectivity at all. I left my smart phone at home for the day, and instead used the dumb alternative.

Several questions appeared in my mind, not-quite-unexpectedly.

What if my chosen route wasn’t the best one? Could there be another option that would shave precious minutes off my journey? What if there was a crash and I got stuck in traffic, when I could have avoided it?

I realised that the answer to these questions was that I couldn’t possibly know the answer.

There’s a freedom in that.

There’s freedom in being unable to optimise your life. There’s a nice feeling that comes with the lack of mental clutter of simply realising that you can’t know what will happen.

You might arrive early or later than expected. When you get there, you’ll work out what’s required at the time, and respond accordingly.

I think what really changed here was the difference in my attention.

When I’m driving looking at Google Maps, I’m thinking of the future – the point at which I’m going to arrive. I’m not at all focused on the present, which is what I’m doing right now. Of course, I can still think about the future of my own accord, unaided by technology – but I’m less likely to be pulled into that frame of mind without Google Maps in my field of view.

We have a tendency to want to control all the controllables. But when you let go of the need to control every aspect, you start to realise that many of the things you’re tempted to control don’t really matter.

That’s powerful too. The realisation that many of the things you’re monitoring and managing don’t really make that much difference at all. All they do is add to your mental clutter – the number of things that are occupying your mind at any given time.

These days it’s easy to try to know everything, to reduce uncertainty and to seek the answer to all our questions.

But just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.