“Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all.
―
Pema Chödrön
"I vow to live a life of Not-knowing,
giving up fixed ideas about myself and the universe."
-- The First Tenet of the Zen Peacemakers
The Summer of '62
 |
| " I know not, your majesty." -- Bodhidharma |
Even worse, the assumption that I know exactly
what is going on and what someone else should to do about it, has wrecked havoc.
Assumptions, especially the one's buried in our subconscious belief structures, can cause a lot of unnecessary suffering.
My first boss, Charlie Winchester,
foreman of the maintenance department at a small factory in a small town
north of Chicago, had, perhaps, a less delicate way of making the point. The memory brings a smile and warm glow to my heart.
In the summer of 1962, I was able to get a relatively good paying union job at the factory where my dad worked. At that point in my life, I was drawn to become a public school teacher. So, it was time.
In the summer of 1962, I was able to get a relatively good paying union job at the factory where my dad worked. At that point in my life, I was drawn to become a public school teacher. So, it was time.
I couldn't rely on family wealth. I had to start saving money for the college education that would, perhaps,
propel me up a notch in social status, if not in income.
Charlie was a kind and able mentor. His spirit pervaded the maintenance crew. During the seven summers I worked there, I was well supported by a small team of guys willing to show "the kid" the ropes. They taught me a lot about how things work -- on many levels.
One particular lesson emerged when Charlie came around the corner to find me standing in front of a piece of production machinery. I'd been trusted to replace the belt that connected it's electric motor to the drill assembly. I assumed it would be a simple repair.
It wasn't.
Belching smoke, the entire machine was lurching erratically and
making threatening noises. As soon as I saw him, I began to explain what I had done and why. Interrupting me mid-sentence, he walked past me to shut the machine down. (Duh!)
Then,
with the ever-present cigar stub clenched in his smile, Charlie took a
pencil and a small spiral bound notepad from
the plastic pencil holder that always rode in his front shirt pocket.
He opened the pad to a blank page, and then, in large, capital letters, he
wrote the word "ASSUME."
"You know what happens when you assume?" he asked.
(READ MORE)
"You know what happens when you assume?" he asked.
(READ MORE)
