The Power of "I Don't Know." (And a Growth Mindset)

I really should give engineers more credit. A talented engineer in my family jokes about how cameras are always off in his "telepresence team meetings" (do non-engineers use the word “telepresence?”) and that you know an engineer is an extrovert if they look at your shoes when talking to you instead of their own. Which left me assuming those in the profession pick up emotional cues as well as a hippopotamus can pick up a vase of flowers.

Yet, among everyone in the tight-knit retirement community drenched with sunshine and small dogs where I housesat during the pandemic, it was a former engineer who picked up on the fact that a 40-something extrovert would benefit from more human interaction than four walks a day with two darling pups around the friendly neighborhood would yield.

And so it came to be that I found myself going sailing one beautiful Friday after work. With images of us peacefully bobbing along the Atlantic coast, I changed from my work-from-home uniform of professional-on-top-but-yoga-pants-with-pockets-for-empty-poop-bags-on-bottom and into something presentable - dare I say casually elegant? I reapplied sunscreen and determined what snacks I’d bring to share with the group.

The engineer, who owned the vessel, and I drove out to the dock a bit earlier than others who would join us. A strong breeze carried the smell of the ocean into the marina as I gingerly stepped from sturdy wooden planks onto the bright flooring of the boat. Holding on for balance with one hand, I began to remove sun-bleached covers from metal knobs and toss them into the galley below as the rest of the group trickled in. My ears may have registered someone say “crew?”

Each arrival was undoubtedly friendly, even as I sensed some reticence in our initial conversations. Feeling overdressed was my first clue; my flowy top stood in contrast to well-worn t-shirts. My slip-on shoes seemed odd compared to rubber-soled tennis shoes and small boots. And why had everyone brought gloves on a warm spring day?

As memory serves, it was finally a no-nonsense woman who - bless her for her candor - clarified we were there for a race, not just an outing, and my shirt simply would not do once we set out because being “rail meat” is serious business.

Rail meat??

Turns out rail meat is not a form of beef jerky; it’s the job of preventing the boat from tipping up too far on one side by getting the weight of your body to that side as fast as possible. I didn’t fully appreciate why yet, but the flowy top got stashed in the galley alongside my cute purse and snacks as I donned an XL t-shirt sporting the logo of a power tool company:

As I tugged on a borrowed pair of gloves and the crew unfurled the sail, another member asked, “Do you know anything about sailing?”

In the nanosecond I paused before answering, a lifetime of formal education and professional experiences flashed through my mind. My memories of being rewarded for knowing things begin as early as second grade when my bestie and I would race to see who could get their worksheets in first. My spelling and my running improved as our quizzes ended in a full-out sprint to the teacher’s desk where the as-yet-empty collection box perched.

While I never physically ran to a lectern in law school, the pressure to always have an answer had only intensified by then. It continued in professional settings where I aimed to start performing as promptly as possible in any job. After all, I reasoned, they’d hired me to do a job, so I better step up and start doing it posthaste.

The pressure to show my worth and, put simply, to know things meant countless moments of projecting the smooth confidence of a duck gliding along the workplace water while working like mad underneath. I’ve sensed colleagues doing the same with me or, most frustratingly, refusing help because they think they should know everything, even to the point of obstructing me in doing what is clearly in my job description.

Now, this view may be unpopular, but here goes: I detest much of the movie Jerry McGuire. The notion of “you complete me” is cringe, so you know I’m at my wit's end if I resort to sending a “help me help you” meme via work email - but it’s been known to happen.

In short, I’m not alone in internalizing that the answer to “Do you know anything about…” should always be “yes,” no matter how the question ends.

Which is why a brutal 0.27-second wrestling match took place in my head between Don’t-Seem-Stupid-By-Admitting-Ignorance and Don’t-Be-Stupid-By-Being-Unsafe.

Thankfully, the latter won.

This was no time for posturing. The race was too important to the crew for me to risk messing it up - not to mention that if the massively heavy thingy that connected to the, um, mast? swung around and pummeled me in the head, getting drenched in cold water would be the least of my worries.

“Do you know anything about sailing?” hung briefly in the salty air.

I had to own up to my ignorance.

“No,” I replied. “I don’t know anything about sailing.”

“Got it. Here’s what you need to know today,” the crew member began, with a cheerful tone and, to my deep relief, zero judgment. Over the course of the next few hours, everyone pitched in with helpful pointers and extra details I’m certain they would not have thought to share had I taken a “fake it ’til you make it” approach. (If I made it, that is.)

The high winds carried us quickly along the course. With decades of experience between them, members of the crew set the sails while the rest of us did what felt like a combination of rock climbing and a military belly crawl to scramble the full span of the boat across the cabin, keeping our heads under the boom (the name of “the massively heavy thingy”). Multiple sets of arms and legs coordinated to avoid kicking anyone in the face or going overboard.

At one point, during a longer stretch when I sat alongside fellow rail meat with my legs dangling toward the waves, feeling the cool spray of the ocean on my limbs, I reflected on how it felt to admit ignorance.

Instead of shame, I felt a mix of relief, clarity, and support.

As time allowed during the race and after, the crew happily regaled me with insights that helped me understand the why of what we were doing and stories that illuminated how sailing brought them joy week after week on the water.

We came in second. The team was elated and I was even invited back. But more than the time on the water, what I remember most was how three words felt as freeing as leaving your metaphorical baggage on the shore while fresh sea air caresses your face:

“I don’t know.”

While many work places toss around the term “onboarding,” many actually take a “sink or swim” approach. Too few ensure that new employees have enough time, clarity, and support to truly “learn the ropes” in order to thrive in their new post.

It shouldn’t take threat of bodily harm for people to be able to admit what they don’t know. In fact, whether it be a new job, educational setting, or any other interaction, we need more spaces where we “meet people where they are at,” and they can find answers to questions they have - and to those they don’t yet know to ask.

I’m grateful to the engineer and his crew for this positive experience. In fact, it's a big reason why openness, candor, and a growth mindset are baked into our core values.

How does this land with you? When was the last time you easily said “I don’t know?” Does your workplace encourage or discourage those words?