Earning Certainty (And Letting It Go)

What’s on my mind?

I’ve been carrying around a feeling this week that I can’t quite name.

It’s part inspired.
Part frustrated.
Part… protective?

A few people reached out to me recently asking if I’d seen a bill or order about ramping up production of a certain chemical. And I’m going to be honest: I haven’t read it. Any opinion I could form right now would be based on hearsay, and I’m trying to get better at not doing that thing we all do—having “certainty” on borrowed information.

Still, it occupied a lot of my headspace. Not because of the chemical itself, but because of what it reminded me of:

Humans are often most certain… right before we learn we were wrong.

That sounds dramatic until you zoom out.

Throughout history, the list of things we “knew” has been rewritten over and over again. Sometimes gently. Sometimes violently. Sometimes in a way that makes us cringe looking back.

I’m not saying that to dunk on anyone. I’m saying it because it keeps me humble. It keeps me teachable.

Maya Angelou said it better than I ever will:
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then do better.”

That quote is one of my anchors. It’s also a quiet reminder that knowing better is not a one-time event. It’s a lifelong rhythm.

The Conversation That Got Me Thinking

After all this rattling around in my head, I had a long and meaningful conversation with one of my team members.

Both of us are passionate about what we believe. And we can hold space with each other to explore those beliefs with respect—even when we disagree.

The whole conversation came down to a deeper question:

Can we stay open to the possibility that we’re wrong—especially about the things we feel most strongly about?

This is the lane I’m trying to stay in:

I’m approaching life with an openness to the possibility that I’m wrong.

Actually… more than open to it. I’m trying to live with the assumption that a lot of what I “know” is probably incomplete—or even wrong—and we simply don’t know how it’s wrong yet.

“Yet” might be the most important word I know. I learned that from my seven-year-old, Leo. (I wrote more about that here: You're Not Good at it....Yet.)

Because “yet” doesn’t shame you for not being there. It just keeps the door open. It turns certainty into curiosity.
Yet keeps learning alive.

And when I stay in that lane—talking about how I’m trying to live, and what I’m willing to question—I find I’m a lot more grounded.

One simple practice helps me when I can feel myself getting rigid:
I slow down and ask, “What would change my mind?”
It feels a little like “be still and let the forest find me.”

I’m less interested in winning a point.
More interested in staying teachable.

And when I forget that posture, I can feel myself reaching for purity—mine or someone else’s.

The Challenge With Purity

At some point, I tried to illustrate the idea with two simple examples.

We drive cars to work every day. We rely on systems we didn’t build and can’t fully see.

I’m saying that because I think it’s important to admit something out loud:

Most of us hold strong values… while living inside systems that violate those values every day.

We’re not pure.
We’re trying.

And there’s a difference.

The uncomfortable truth is that if we demand perfect moral consistency before we allow someone to speak—or learn—or participate—we end up with a very small club of people allowed to have opinions.

And I don’t want that world.

Because I don’t think the future gets built by purity.
I think it gets built by people doing the best they can… while staying open to doing better.

We can all find the place where someone else’s values and behavior don’t match perfectly. That’s easy.

The harder work is admitting the same thing in ourselves… without turning it into shame.

Why This Matters to Me (And Worms, Somehow)

Here’s the part where this comes back to worm farming.

I’m “just worm farming,” as I like to joke. But underneath that joke is something serious:

I’m trying to participate in change without pretending I have it all figured out.

Is worm farming the solution?
I don’t know.

Is it part of a solution?
I think it could be.

I’m not building Iowa Worm Farm because I’m certain. I’m building it because I’m curious—and I’m willing to test what I believe in public. I’m willing to learn. I’m willing to be wrong.

And I want to be around people who are willing to do the same.

The Ask I’m Practicing

So here’s what I’m trying to practice—in my work, in my leadership, and in conversations with people I care about:

Not “admit you’re wrong.”

But…

Admit you might be.

And stay open long enough for reality to teach you something.

If you want to have strong opinions, I respect that. Bring them.

But hold them with enough humility that you can update them when new information shows up.

That’s not weakness.
That’s maturity.

That’s how you earn your opinions the slow way.

A Question For You

What’s something you’re deeply certain about right now…

…and what would it look like to hold that certainty with open hands?

Not because you don’t care.

But because you care enough to keep learning.