Sometimes the most unexpected lessons arrive in the ordinary moments.
A few days ago, I was sitting with my son at the table, helping him with his math homework. Numbers, formulas, small problems written in a school notebook — nothing extraordinary. Just an ordinary evening between a father and his child.
At one point, he looked at the problem, paused for a moment, and then said very calmly,
“I don’t know this.”
A few minutes later, he looked at another task and said again,
“I don’t understand.”
And then, with complete honesty, he asked me,
“Can you explain it again, but more clearly?”
There was no embarrassment in his voice. No hesitation. No fear that someone might think less of him.
He simply admitted that he didn’t know.
And that was the moment when I realized something that surprised me.
Children say “I don’t know” very easily.
Adults rarely do.
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, many of us lose the courage to say those simple words.
We begin to believe that not knowing something is a weakness. That we must always appear confident, informed, and certain. That asking questions might reveal a gap in our knowledge.
But the truth is much simpler.
Not knowing is not a failure.
It is simply the beginning of learning.
I remember a moment from my working years that came back to me while we were solving those math problems together.
We were attending a training session at work. A lecturer was explaining a new process. Slide after slide appeared on the screen while he spoke about procedures and systems.
Around the room, my colleagues were nodding their heads.
Everything looked perfectly clear.
At the end of the presentation, the lecturer asked the familiar question:
“Does anyone have any questions?”
The room became completely silent.
Everyone looked thoughtful. Professional. Confident.
But something inside me felt different.
Because if I was honest with myself, I had to admit something very simple:
I didn’t understand everything.
So I raised my hand and said,
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand this part. And I’m not sure how this works either. Could you explain it again?”
For a second, the room stayed quiet.
Then something interesting happened.
Another colleague spoke.
“Yes, actually… I didn’t fully understand that part either.”
Then another voice joined.
“And I’m not sure about that step as well.”
Suddenly, the room that had been silent just seconds before became full of questions.
People began asking things they had been too hesitant to ask before.
The strange thing was that many of us hadn’t understood the explanation completely. But almost everyone had been pretending that they did.
All it took was one person admitting, “I don’t know.”
And suddenly everyone felt free to say the same.
That memory returned to me while my son and I were sitting together with his math notebook.
Children do something we often forget how to do.
They are honest about learning.
They understand something very important: not knowing is normal.
They don’t see questions as a weakness. They see them as a natural step toward understanding.
But somewhere along the way, many adults begin to fear those three simple words.
“I don’t know.”
We worry that people might judge us.
We worry that it might make us look unprepared, inexperienced, or incapable.
But in reality, the opposite is often true.
Admitting that we don’t know something requires a certain kind of courage.
It means choosing honesty instead of pretending.
It means opening the door to understanding instead of closing it with false confidence.
The moment we say “I don’t know” is not the moment we fail.
It is the moment we begin to learn.
My son finished his homework that evening. Slowly, step by step, the problems started to make sense to him.
But the truth is, I learned something that night too.
Sometimes the most powerful lessons don’t come from books, teachers, or lectures.
Sometimes they come from a child sitting across the table, looking at a math problem, and saying very simply:
“I don’t know this yet.”
Maybe we don’t lose our ability to learn as adults.
Maybe we only forget how to admit that we still have things to learn.
And perhaps the most honest — and most courageous — sentence we can say is still the one children use so naturally:
“I don’t know.”
GK
Georgi Kisyov – Reflections & Books 
“The moment we say “I don’t know” is not the moment we fail. It is the moment we begin to learn.”
As a language teacher, I love this! It’s spot on, and something I always try to convey to my students.
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Thank you! That means a lot coming from a language teacher. You see every day how learning truly begins with curiosity and the courage to ask questions. I’m glad the line resonated with you.
GK
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I have to say, Georgi, this made me smile and feel warm inside at the same time. It really resonated with me because saying “I don’t know” sounds so simple, yet for a lot of adults it can feel surprisingly hard. Somewhere along the way, many of us start feeling like we always need to have an answer, or at least look like we do. But real learning usually begins in that honest moment when we stop pretending.
I also loved the part where one person spoke up and then suddenly others felt free to do the same. That feels true in so many settings. Sometimes honesty gives other people permission to be honest too. What looks like weakness at first is often actually quiet courage.
And I really like the way your son said, in his own way, “I don’t know this yet.” That little word “yet” changes everything. It turns not knowing from a dead end into a doorway.
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Thank you so much for this beautiful reflection. You’re absolutely right — that small word “yet” changes everything, turning not knowing into the beginning of learning rather than the end of it. I also love what you said about honesty giving others permission to be honest too. Sometimes one simple moment of courage opens the door for everyone in the room.
GK
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Oh, yes! There’s a power in unknowing that opens the door to do much, spiritually as well as intellectually. Having been taught as a child never to admit to not knowing, it took me half a lifetime to unlearn that. It’s such a joy that your son is growing up not fearing not to know!
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Thank you for sharing that. I really like how you described it — the power in unknowing that opens doors both intellectually and spiritually. It’s interesting how some lessons take years to unlearn, but once we do, learning becomes much freer again. I’m grateful my son is growing up without that fear.
GK
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one of the most important things and sometimes the hardest for people to do
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You’re absolutely right. Sometimes the simplest words are the hardest to say, especially when pride or fear gets in the way. But those moments of honesty are often where real learning begins. Thank you for pointing that out.
GK
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It takes a surprising amount of strength to say “I don’t know” – but those words are almost as important as saying “I love you” to one’s child, family and friends.
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That’s such a beautiful way to put it. It really does take strength to say “I don’t know,” just as it takes courage to say “I love you.” Both are simple words, but they come from honesty and openness. Thank you for sharing that thoughtful perspective.
GK
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I’d rather ask questions than get something wrong. It’s a pity we fear looking foolish by admitting we don’t understand something. You illustrated that perfectly with your example. It only takes one person to have the courage to ask to cause a ripple….. Why do we think learning ever ends? There’s so much I don’t know! Really enjoyed your post as always. Thanks Georgi 🙂
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Thank you so much for this thoughtful comment. You’re absolutely right — asking questions is always better than quietly getting something wrong. I love how you described it as a ripple, because one honest question really can open the door for others. And yes, learning never truly ends — there is always more to discover. 🙂
GK
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“They don’t see questions as a weakness. They see them as a natural step toward understanding. But somewhere along the way, many adults begin to fear those three simple words. “I don’t know.” We worry that people might judge us.”
This one hits close to home so long comment.
It is one of the many lessons learned in life about who to trust, respect, and want to learn from. When we are judged for having that courage, it does something that takes the desire to learn down a notch. It helped to know what kind of leader to be or not to be, and what qualities were a must.
I remember getting feedback for asking too many questions when learning a new job where everything was new, heavy, and full of impacts if you got it wrong. There’s a lot here, but two things stood out. One manager took the time to say if you’re asking the question, calling the help desk, that tells me two things – either you don’t know where to find the answer in the resources or you’re not confident in sharing he knowledge, now let’s help you get there. Wow, she was right, it was a little of both. I had gone from being the one to knowing and giving the answers to having to ask the questions in a whole different career.
The opposite example was being managed by others who constantly did a put down for having questions and not just knowing, or not pretending to know to supposedly show confidence to direct reports. I learned that was not the way to lead – great learnings to do the opposite.
Great post! Like you said – Ask the questions, say I don’t know, and let others come alongside you to find them. People who count will respect you more, and others are more likely to have the courage to say I dont know through your example of courage. ~ Rosie
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Thank you for sharing this, Rosie. Your examples show so clearly how much leadership shapes the courage to ask questions. The manager who chose to guide instead of judge created space for real learning, and that makes all the difference. I love your conclusion too — when one person is honest enough to say “I don’t know,” it gives others the courage to learn as well.
GK
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I have been there so often, it doesn’t help when you have to admit you don’t know either, that a great piece for thought. thank you.
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Thank you for sharing that. I think many of us have been in that situation at some point. Admitting we don’t know can feel uncomfortable, but it’s often the first step toward understanding. I’m really glad the post gave you something to reflect on.
GK
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