I used to say often, almost as a mantra: “I don’t know anything.”
It wasn’t cynicism, and it wasn’t false modesty. It was reverence—for the complexity of the world, for the limits of perspective, for how elusive truth can be.
I’ve always been a voracious reader. A lifelong learner. But the deeper I’ve gone, the more I’ve realized how little I can hold with certainty. The more you know, the more aware you become of the vast terrain you haven’t explored. That phrase—“I don’t know anything”—became a kind of grounding. A reminder that knowledge is provisional, and that confidence should always be tempered by curiosity.
Over the years, this mindset has shaped the way I lead and build. As an entrepreneur, it’s easy to fall into the trap of being the one with the answers. But I’ve found more strength in asking good questions than in pretending to have it all figured out.
Not knowing isn’t weakness—it’s space. Space for better ideas. Space for collaboration. Space to listen, pivot, and grow.
And in a world that rewards certainty, I’ve learned that humility is a form of power. The kind that builds trust, invites innovation, and leaves room for something greater than ego to lead the way.
That phrase—“I don’t know anything”—still echoes in me today, but it sounds a little different now.
It’s no longer just a posture of humility. It’s a practice. A way of moving through complexity without needing to control it. A way of staying open, especially when the stakes are high and the path ahead is unclear.
Whether I’m building a business, writing a book, or having a difficult conversation, I try to lead with presence rather than pretense. To replace the need for certainty with a deeper commitment to clarity, discernment, and learning in real time.
Because the truth is, we don’t always need answers—we need awareness. We need the courage to say, “I’m listening. I’m learning. I’m willing to be changed.”
And maybe that’s the deepest kind of knowing there is.