The Power of I Don't Know

PERSPECTIVE · NLP · MINDSET

By Daniela Fukumothi · June 2026

We live in a world that rewards certainty.

Have an opinion. State it boldly. Know your side. Pick your lane. The faster you judge, the more decisive you seem. The more you know, the more authority you carry.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that noise, three of the most powerful words got very quietly buried.

I don't know.

What "I don't know" actually does

Our brains are meaning-making machines. We see something, hear something, and within seconds we have already built a story around it. A whole narrative — complete with characters, motives, and a verdict — constructed from one data point.

It is not a flaw. It is how we are wired. Our internal representations of the world feel real and complete, even when they are built on almost nothing.

But here is the problem. When we are certain, we stop being curious. And when we stop being curious, we stop seeing people.

We see behaviour. We see the surface. And we judge it.

One of the principles I work with in NLP is this: a person is not their behaviour. What someone does in a moment — especially a hard moment — is not who they are. But the moment we label it, we close the door on everything underneath. The hurt. The context. The story we haven't heard yet.

I don't know is what keeps that door open.

It takes the firepower out of assumptions. It disarms the certainty that fuels gossip, that looks down on people going through hard times, that turns a bad day into a character verdict. It creates space — for curiosity, for compassion, for the possibility that there is more to this than what you can see from where you are standing.

The subway story

Stephen Covey tells a story in The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People that I have never forgotten.

A man boards a New York subway with his two young children. The kids are running wild — loud, disruptive, climbing on seats, bothering other passengers. The father sits there saying nothing, staring at the floor, seemingly oblivious.

The irritation in the carriage builds. People exchange glances. Finally, someone turns to him and says: sir, can you please control your children?

The man looks up — as if being pulled back from somewhere very far away — and says: I'm sorry. We just came from the hospital. Their mother died an hour ago. I don't know what to say to them.

The whole carriage shifts in an instant.

Not because the children suddenly became quieter. Not because the situation changed. But because everyone got access to the part of the story they didn't have before.

That is the power of I don't know. Not as an excuse. Not as ignorance. But as a reminder that we are almost never working with the full picture.

What we lose when we are too certain

Labels are efficient. They help us sort and categorise and move quickly through the world.

But they are also the thing that stops us from seeing people as people.

When we label someone — difficult, lazy, selfish, irresponsible — we stop being curious about them. We have filed them away. Case closed.

And we live in a moment that rewards this. The speed of judgment, the certainty of outrage, the satisfaction of knowing — these are the currencies of the world we are scrolling through every day. Cancel before context. Verdict before story.

But the most inspiring people I have ever encountered — in life, in the work I do, in the books and research I have spent years immersed in — they all share one quiet habit. They stay curious longer than feels comfortable. They hold their verdict a little looser. They leave room for the part of the story they haven't heard yet.

The takeaway

I don't know is not weakness.

It is not indecision, or lack of conviction, or being a pushover. It is the most honest thing you can say when you are working with incomplete information — which, by the way, is always.

It is what keeps you flexible when everything around you is pushing you to be rigid. It is what keeps you connected to people when the easiest thing would be to write them off. It is what keeps you growing when certainty would have you standing still.

The next time you feel absolutely sure about someone — what they meant, who they are, why they did that — try leaving just a little space.

I don't know the full story.

You might be surprised what walks through that door.

With love, Daniela

Enjoyed this? Next up: something a little more personal — a birthday note on turning 45 and what the forties have taught me so far.