“Does anyone have any questions?” the teacher asks as a roomful of students stare back blankly. An awkward silence follows: some stare at the ceiling, some at their feet, others shake their heads to signal the teacher to move on. I was one of the head-shakers. I shook my head when I didn’t have any questions, and I shook my head when I did. When presented with the opportunity to admit our ignorance, we instinctively dismiss it. Often, it is due to the fear of embarrassment from not meeting other people's expectations. Hiding one’s ignorance is an unhealthy habit because while it offers immediate rewards, it has extremely detrimental effects in the long term such as limiting one’s capacity to learn or connect meaningfully with others.

In school, especially in China, where I grew up, teachers create competition among students to motivate them. After every test, the scores are announced from the highest to the lowest, and the corresponding student has to walk up to the front of the classroom to get their test back. The first few students may walk up with their heads high, but imagine being the last few: the shame and embarrassment you feel as your classmates stare at you with disdain is enough motivation for you to study harder next time. However, in addition to serving as motivation, competition can create an atmosphere that prevents you from expanding your knowledge. It is often said that mistakes are the best teachers. But as a child, I learned to never risk making mistakes. The competitive environment at school taught me to never raise my hand because it puts me at risk of embarrassment. To me, the pride of getting the right answer never compensated for the shame of getting it wrong; I dreaded the thought of my cheeks burning as the class looks at me in disapproval. By preventing myself from exposing my inadequacies and making mistakes, I closed the door to learning and self-improvement.

Once I moved to the US in 7th grade, the reluctance to speak only increased. Since I barely spoke English, the chances of me embarrassing myself were even higher. Unaware of my background, my peers naturally expected me, an Asian kid with glasses, to excel in school. This only added pressure to me to never make mistakes. As Leah Hager Cohen mentions in her book I Don’t Know, high expectations result in a tendency to hide one’s ignorance more often (89). In other words, looking dumb is all the more embarrassing when you are expected to be smart. However, my actual knowledge and abilities rarely allowed me to meet the high expectations set by my peers and teachers. Due to the different education system in China, I knew very little about the subjects taught in American schools. For example, I had never heard of the Holocaust, or slavery, but I knew every detail of the Nanjing massacre―how the Japenese ruthlessly murdered the Chinese. I was, however, very self-conscious about my ignorance. For that reason, I eventually developed this habit of hiding what I didn’t know: I would pretend to not hear or understand what someone was asking. Over the years, however, I’ve realized that although hiding your ignorance may seem like the easier alternative in the moment, it has far greater consequences in the long run. One of them is creating a barrier to knowledge and the help of others. Cohen praises the benefits of admitting ignorance, pointing out that “feeling free to say ‘I don’t know’ also allows us greater receptivity―which may lead to greater wisdom.” (39). By acknowledging the holes in our web of knowledge, we can more directly patch them up. On the contrary, pretending to know not only isolates us from the help of others, but it may also result in a lifestyle based on falsity. I never experienced the freedom of authentic self-expression until a life-changing moment near the end of 7th grade.

I still remember clearly what happened that day. During history class, Ms. Greenfield offered extra credit for reciting Prince Hamlet’s monologue, “What a Piece of Work Is Man”, in front of the class. We had a week to prepare, but needless to say, the thought of risking my “dignity” to earn a few extra credit points never crossed my mind. “I don’t need the extra credit. I already have an A in the class!” I thought to myself.

A week went by rather quickly, but I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Ben was the first to volunteer to perform. I wasn’t paying attention to his performance, but at times, I did catch some mistakes in his reciting, and it irritated me quite a bit. I was thinking to myself, “why would you go up and recite the monologue if you don’t even have it memorized?”.

“You did a wonderful job, Ben!” Ms. Greenfield exclaimed after the performance. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a feeling swept through my body. I felt like I had to go up and let everyone see that I can do better. I’ve never felt such intense emotions for what seemed like such a trivial moment. Looking back now, 3 years later, I think I finally understand: it wasn’t just Ben’s messing up; it was years of suppressed voice and emotions finally breaking through the invisible wall.

My emotions took control of my body, and I was suddenly in front of the class without my awareness. Every pair of eyes was looking at me. I held my breath, and after what seemed like the longest second in my life, I let it go―I let everything go. I exploded, like a star in the distant galaxy, releasing everything inside of me. I started singing the lines and dancing around the classroom. The joy that shined through everyone’s eyes fueled me to become a black hole, absorbing all the confidence in the world. As I sang the final line, I collapsed to the floor with my arms in the air and a dramatic expression on my face. In that moment, I experienced the freedom of unfiltered self-expression, and I overcame the fear of embarrassment.

Since then, I started talking to more people and made more friends as a result. I was able to make meaningful connections once I became honest with others about who I was. But that came after I became honest with myself: accepting that I was different and celebrating those differences. The performance allowed me to break the barrier between myself and the outside world and let me see the wonderful opportunities that I couldn’t before. I learned that by expressing ourselves without fear of judgment, “we declare ourselves open to receiving information, ideas, and perspectives from beyond the borders of self. And in so doing, our connection to others and to the world is not ruptured. On the contrary. In the honest flow of giving and receiving, we are closer than ever.” (Cohen 97). If we pretend to know something we don’t or pretend to be someone we aren’t, the relationships we build will always be based on lies and deceptions. In contrast, if we expose our vulnerabilities, not only do we portray a more accurate version of ourselves, others will find us more relatable and more human. By being truthful to myself and others, I was able to make incredible friends that are open-minded about the differences in my knowledge and identity.

Admitting your ignorance not only opens the doors to knowledge and help, but it also allows for genuine and meaningful connections with others, which in turn will further empower you to achieve freedom. Collectively, we should keep an open mind about each other’s body of knowledge, because in doing so, we build a community where everyone can admit their ignorance without the fear of embarrassment. In other words, be proud to admit your ignorance and encourage others to do so too.

Works Cited

Cohen, Leah Hager. I Don’t Know: In Praise of Admitting Ignorance (Except When You Shouldn’t). New York: Riverhead Books, 2013.