What do I know?
It’s been 14 days now since we left our sick house to the care of mold remediators. So much has happened since then in terms of “the project” we call home. We haven’t even seen all of the changes. But it's like Donald Rumsfeld famously said: “There are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don't know we don't know.”
Beside the fact my mother would turn over in her grave if she knew I were quoting “that man,” The Rumsfield Matrix reveals why exploring is imperative in creative process or heroic journeys, but also why it’s not easily done. We live in a culture that prefers “known knowns.” We immerse ourselves in data as if it proves our way forward; or we “move fast and break things,” because those willing to break stuff are sure they already know better.
I’m pretty dedicated to being “comfortable working in a space of not knowing,” as it’s in the core competencies (5.5) followed by ICF Coaches. True, I wish I already had the gift of knowing the answers to some really big questions we face: When do we get to go home? How much will it all cost? How will this affect our ability to pay for our looming old age? Will I ever get rid of the mold spores in me? Will some of these neurological symptoms go away, or are they a lasting reminder of this experience? Etc., etc., etc.
Also true, I know I have not yet discovered enough data or new patterns in the emerging landscape to really answer those questions. That will happen when the Explore phase of our journey becomes familiar enough to transform into a Connect phase: not yet there, but able to navigate the new landscape well enough to verify that the gift I seek, or something better, is within my power. So in the last 14 days I’ve focused on what stands out to me as novel and feeds my curiosity. These now known unknowns become the tools used to create the new way forward…
Perspective
We were in Los Angeles last week to visit our daughter Andra and her husband Jon. We took a day off to go to The Getty museum. It boasts an outstanding collection of Renaissance portraits in one gallery. To me, they all looked the same from 10 feet away. But Andra called me over to The Portrait of Camillo Rospigliosi about 1630–1640 and my perspective changed.
Turns out it is not a painting, but a mosaic, made with tiny flecks of stone. The gallery notes state that this technique was sometimes used in order to keep colors bright for years beyond the known life of paint pigment. Exploring further, more sparkles of perspective emerge: Step closer, the art changes from a portrait to pixelated stones. Closer still, there is no portrait at all, just chips smaller than a baby’s fingernail.
Then I wondered back about 400 years to the artist’s perspective and his choice to make a painting of stone. He probably hoped this portrait’s unique material would affirm his talent for centuries beyond those of his contemporaries. Or was it his patron who wanted to live forever? Would they ever have considered that future viewers might be more curious about the light still refracting from 400 years ago rather than the artist or subject?
I soon wondered how long it would take AI to pull together a few thousand virtual stones into a portrait… maybe even print it on a 3-d printer. I realize:
Life changes in ways my best laid plans, even those written in stone, can’t anticipate.
If I’m not ready to see something new, I won’t.
Perspective Too
When we left L.A., we drove through hours of farms in the Salinas Valley that make California the largest producer of food in the U.S. We stayed some nights with my cousin Kay who calls this valley home, and went to a Farmers market where we were able to smell and taste the bounty from these fields directly. Then we took four days to drive up to Seattle, enjoying the coastal roads. First we communed with trees up close in The Avenue of The Giants. Then we drove through days of forest hugging the road on one side, with the ocean on the other. I got to see this up close and up high. I hope this picture gallery gives you an imagining of how this informed my perspective, beyond words.
![Trees and ocean from our trip up the Pacific coast in July 2024](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb50f0af6-0069-434e-b039-39695ea1c903_579x640.png)
![Trees and ocean from our trip up the Pacific coast in July 2024](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F6f0f3736-90b3-463e-aa3a-5c5728db75a5_960x1280.jpeg)
![Trees and ocean from our trip up the Pacific coast in July 2024](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F1c6a6c76-62ac-4a8a-9bb4-02c339605713_960x1280.jpeg)
![Trees and ocean from our trip up the Pacific coast in July 2024](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fbdb06fb1-ce12-431c-ae51-8837733aba79_960x1280.jpeg)
Now we’ve arrived to visit my son, Lucas. We have the room and time to really address and manage the details of the mycotoxin tsunami that hit us. The trick will be to keep the Explore perspective and see the trees as well as the whole forest of possibilities. It all matters in painting the big picture.
Connect the Dots
Throughout known time, the story arcs of great innovation and courage have been organizing principles for the human race. These stories have connected the dots for us all, individually and collectively, to make repeatable patterns. This is how we make meaning, gain peace, and see progress in the larger gallery of life, which can feel so random.
As I sit here connecting dots about how to put my house back together, I have another remediation project that feels much more daunting and uncertain from my current perspective: healing my body, mind and spirit. This is the real gift I seek from being pushed out of my Eagle’s Nest house high over the San Francisco Bay. I want healing even more than going home.
My doctor told me from Day 1 that beyond medicine and meditation, I need a deep dive into 6-12 months of brain retraining. Her notes actually say that getting better doesn’t really happen until you “add limbic and vagal response treatments.” Turns out when illness becomes chronic, it can make the brain so vigilant in policing symptoms, that it drives the nervous system to over-defend the castle of the body, and bankrupts the kingdom. It doesn’t take long for these patterns to establish, especially in highly sensitive people. In my case, living in a secretly moldy house for years finally tipped the balance.
So even once my house is livable, what matters is that I keep exploring and connecting if I am to attain the gift of a long, healthy life. Of course, it’s not all up to me. I am but a small fleck in the whole Creation. But in my locus of control, what really matters is to hold the perspective that I will make that journey.
To start, I can remember how the picture in the frame shifts when I step back and see myself as one portrait of many, or get up close and see that life is made of hard stone, flexible light and patterns. I can explore that edge right up close, being curious and courageous… maybe even stepping on through the frame as did Alice in Wonderland.
I can work to be strong enough physically - and mentally - to walk deep among the trees in the forest, as well as climb the high mountain for the overview. And do it trusting not only my known knowns, but open to the unknown unknowns. They all play their part as illuminators of the human spirit. Gathering it all into perspective, again and again and again on life’s journey, I can choose the view that best lets me shine my little fleck of a life into the whole picture of the Creation.