The Addiction of Knowing

I’ve long believed that if I understood something really well, I could handle it.

Seems logical, right?

When problems pop up, we look for causes.

When something breaks, we fix it.

When people hurt us, we try to grasp what occurred.

This mindset served me okay for ages.

Life then dropped me a situation that made no sense, no matter how hard I tried.

Initially, I thought finding answers was the goal.

Told myself I needed to see clearly – get closure, grab the truth.

Thing is, I didn’t notice the hunt itself turned into an issue.

I obsessed over each tidbit.

Driving, sleeping, dog walks, lawn mowing, meetings – nothing was safe.

Thought I was making headway.

If I could simply comprehend one more tiny bit, everything’d click.

It never did though.

Answers just led to more questions.

Explanations left threads I had to follow up on.

I kept chasing this phantom finish line.

Now, I wonder if what I was dealing with wasn’t actually solvable.

I treated grief like it was fixable with info.

But sometimes, knowing everything still leaves you hurting.

Every fact laid bare doesn’t mean feelings mend.

The nagging thing was that hope the next tidbit’d ease everything?

It struck me hard facing this truth.

It made me face a question I’d dodged: what if definitive answers aren’t waiting for me?

Maybe I got all the crucial stuff already.

Is it my constant digging that keeps me stuck?

Don’t have a slick solution here.

Some days I go back, try to force connection on dots that might not even link up.

Wanting all to be clear and neat.

Perhaps it’s just a part of being human.

But I’m figuring out the difference between knowing your past and being stuck in it.

One helps you advance.

The other, subtly, takes your future.

And honestly, I need to quit staring at the past so much.

Not that I magically got all the answers.

It’s about seeing that my life’s in front of me, not constantly trying to pull pieces from behind.