Number 18: IDK Template.
April 30, 2012
"You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know."
- Oscar Wilde
Everybody needs to use the IDK Template at one time or another. IDK is the acronym for I Don’t Know. It sounds so simple, and a bit silly, to suggest that being a compelling communicator sometimes means having to say “I don’t know.” But for some of us, this is an essential tool. Why does anyone feel they have to have an answer just because somebody asked a question? Even one that was rhetorical.
When a dear
friend of mine died, one of the readings was on Humility. The reading, which
will be at the end of this post, included this line: Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit
of thinking I must say something on every subject on every occasion. Pure, sweet wisdom written by a Mother
Superior from Little Book of Prayers.
The joy of
saying you don’t know something is refreshing and helps you avoid the trap of
guessing at the answer or making up an opinion on the spot.
Other people
respond well to the honesty too. Think how good it feels when someone does not
give you a trite or glib answer and thoughtfully tells you they don’t know how
they feel about a certain subject and want more time to think about it.
Nobody likes a
know-it-all.
On Humility
Lord, Thou knowest better than I know
myself that I am growing older, and will some day be old.
Keep me from getting talkative and
particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every
subject on every occasion.
Release me from craving to try to straighten
out everybody’s affairs.
Keep my mind free from the recital of
endless details — give me wings to get to the point.
I ask for grace enough to listen to the
tales of others’ pains. Help me to endure them with patience.
But seal my lips on my own aches and
pains — they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweet as
the years go by.
Teach me the glorious lesson that
occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want
to be a saint — some of them are so hard to live with — but a sour old woman is
one of the crowning works of the devil.
Make me thoughtful, but not moody;
helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to
use it all — but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.
This was read
at the funeral of my friend Virginia Greene. When I could not find it on the
internet I called her daughter and she sent me a copy. They only had one — it
was from a newspaper clipping found in Virginia’s mother’s wallet when she
died.
Next Monday
the post will be THE BRAND IN YOU.
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