The Not-Knowing Place

         It’s student conference time and last week, a student expressed concern for how he was feeling about his script. He said he was so sure of where he was going at first and now after hearing others’ scripts, gaining ideas from workshop, readings, discussions and just lingering with his own words and his own work, his story has changed. In short, he’s uncomfortable. He’s not particularly unhappy with where his story is going; it’s more the fact that it’s beyond his control and he doesn’t know what to do with that. The next day, two other students echoed a similar feeling of not knowing.
         I tell my students something I discovered years ago. A place of not-knowing is part of creative problem-solving. A writer must anticipate that at some point he or she will enter that space and be uncomfortable. One should strive to get comfortable with being uncomfortable because not knowing is (likely) exactly where you need to be. It’s a stewing place. And it’s temporary.

           The not-knowing place is not limited to right-brained problems. It might be the space in calculus where you have no idea what’s going on, where you’re processing new concepts and trying to make connections before it finally clicks and you get it. It could be the feeling you have your first month on a new job. A time you simply have to trust and take it all in until you’re comfortable.
          Not knowing is a feeling I need to remind myself about on this journey. I’m uncomfortable and it’s beyond my control. If you’ve read my last posts, we’re at the ‘we don’t know if its Secretory Breast Cancer or Breast Cancer with Secretory Features’ place. The experts differ. My surgeon confirmed yesterday that all the stuff that doesn’t make sense truly does not make sense. If it’s Secretory, then I don’t really need the chemo that I’m doing my third round of today. If it has Secretory Features with the possibility of rogue cancer cells, then as my surgeon says, “you’ll do better with chemo first.” Either way, I’m triple negative (or close to it). Secretory is always triple negative and not a problem. If it’s Secretory Features, it is a problem. It’s highly aggressive. That’s the ‘doesn’t make sense part’. We won’t know until we know, which is after surgery. If it’s Secretory, I won’t need radiation afterwards. If it’s not, I will.
          So I’m on the thorough course, finishing the chemo just in case. But what we all wish for, my doctors and me, is that I don’t need what I’m doing. We wish it to be pure Secretory Breast Cancer. Surgery on July 9 will tell.
          My place of not-knowing is not about creative problem solving, but since I’m writing a script about a woman who discovers that whatever she paints comes true, I’m putting myself in her shoes and tossing that wish out there. I did a doodle. 

I can’t help but see the word ‘Secret’ in Secretory. It reminds me of Rhonda Byrne’s best-selling positive-thinking book, “The Secret.” The key message is visualize what you wish for and it comes true. Some call it magical thinking. Either way, I’m stashing the sadness and sinking feelings should my case prove to be a more aggressive cancer with high incidence of recurrence. They say 99 percent of the things one worries about don’t happen. 
     That’s my mantra for today. Tomorrow I'll start my mediation tapes to help me stay there.