The Joy of Not Explaining Yourself

I’ve been noticing something about myself lately – no meaningful looks out rain-streaked windows involved (for a change). I’ve realized that I enjoy putting certain things out there without having any real idea what will happen because of it.

This is actually new-ish for me.

Old Me loved a plan, and she loved a point even more. Old Me invariably also wanted a reason, a justification, and ideally a stack of laminated explanation cards I could hand out to anyone who looked even mildly confused. I hated even potentially being misunderstood, and that was my way of making sure it didn't happen.

But lately? I've finally gotten the memo that the explanation card is optional. (I was way overusing it before.)

The Exhaustion of Explaining Yourself to Everyone Forever

If you’ve spent any amount of time online as a thought-forward person (or even just as a person with opinions), you probably already know the steps to this dance:

• You say something without spelling it out completely, as one sometimes does.
• Someone asks what you mean.
• Someone else asks what you really mean.
• A third person demands clarification.
• A fourth person wants sources.
• A fifth person wants to debate definitions, like you’re both on a panel at some snorefest of a conference neither of you signed up for.

At that point, you’re no longer communicating. You’re hosting unauthorized, unplanned office hours, and that becomes absolutely exhausting after a while.

The act of constantly explaining yourself is labor — invisible, unpaid, never-ending labor. And if you don’t perform that labor fast enough or sweetly enough (or at all), people accuse you of being evasive, pretentious, or even “intentionally confusing.”

But in my case, I'm just not interested in turning every thought I put out there into a guided tour anymore. Sometimes I'm just thinking from moment to moment or still figuring out what I really want to say. And sometimes (OK, most of the time) I just don’t feel like answering follow-up questions from strangers named Chet.

I’ve also been finding a surprising amount of peace in not simplifying myself on demand, because who needs it?

Curiosity as Watching, Not Steering

Somewhere along the way, curiosity got rebranded as something that has to produce. Always, and especially online.

We’re supposed to be curious in ways that look industrious. Curious with a goal and clear deliverables. Curious in a way you can easily summarize at the end with, “And here’s what I learned.”

But some forms of curiosity refuse to perform. They don't announce themselves or promise anyone a tidy conclusion. They just watch. They sit there in stylish armchairs like they own the place, and they refuse to apologize for it.

This brand of curiosity feels like standing off to the side of the road with your arms crossed instead of driving the car, simply noticing patterns (my specialty):

• How quickly people rush to certainty.
• How uncomfortable silence makes them.
• How fast someone will volunteer an explanation, even if it’s only tangentially related to what you said.

Especially if it makes them sound impressive.

Observing this can be super entertaining. It’s like watching a nature documentary, but instead of lions and gazelles, it’s random humans and their desperate need to feel informed about absolutely everything.

What Happens When You Don't Clarify (Immediately or Ever)

When you don’t explain yourself right away, most people are extremely hesitant to admit they don't actually understand.

Instead, they say, “Ah. Yes. I see.” They nod along, earnestly and thoughtfully. They might even invent a meaning or attempt to confidently explain your own words back to you. With footnotes, even.

It’s surreal. And quite illuminating.

Because what’s happening is full-on discomfort management in action. Confusion is inseparable from failure for a certain type of person. Certainty is the exact opposite, so people choose certainty. Even if it’s completely imaginary.

When you choose to stop rescuing people from that discomfort and just let them sit with it instead, you learn a lot about how they handle uncertainty. You also learn just how much energy you’ve been spending preemptively smoothing things over for the comfort of people you don't know and likely don't really care about.

Choosing to just cut that shit out – finally – feels oddly liberating.

Why This Is Actually Useful (And Not Just Entertaining)

There's more going on here than just an opportunity for a clandestine chuckle or two. There’s actually something genuinely useful at play here. When you finally give ambiguity a seat at the table:

• You stop over-editing yourself in advance.
• You finally start attracting people who can tolerate not knowing.
• You quietly repel those who need constant instruction.
• You reclaim time you didn’t realize you were flushing straight down the toilet for free.

Ambiguity can be a boundary, if you allow it to be – soft, but effective. It lets people know they're welcome to engage with you, but makes it crystal clear that you're not going to hold their hand through the process of understanding you.

You don’t owe people detailed FAQ sections for every thought you have, so stop wasting your time providing them. Leave people to do at least some of the work themselves. It's good for them.

Play Is Never Frivolous, Even When It Looks Like It Is

Despite liking to share a lot of what I create with others, I'm probably the most introverted person alive, so I'm not big on one-on-one interaction. However, something in me loves doing things just to see what happens. It's my aging mind's way of continuing to engage in play, I suppose, and I heartily recommend it.

Play is how we test reality without the need to worry about the stakes involved. It’s how we learn systems, limits, and responses. It's how children learn, and something so many of us forget as adults.

Play keeps me curious and gloriously awake. It keeps me from turning into someone who needs everything to make sense immediately, and it’s fun in an uncomplicated way anyone can appreciate – something that feels almost rebellious these days.

A Gentle Suggestion

If any of this resonates, I'd like to invite you to try a few things the next time you decide to float a weird idea out there:

• Try releasing something without explaining a damn thing about it.
• Try not correcting people immediately.
• Try letting a little ambiguity into the chat without rushing to fix it for people who are uncomfortable.

Then watch what happens – out there, yes, but also internally. Make a note of what feels uncomfortable... or freeing. Notice who sticks around, who can't bounce fast enough, and who stays even though they're clearly a little itchy around the collar.

Experiment quietly, for your own amusement and sanity. Because sometimes, the most interesting part of creating isn’t the thing that you made. It’s what happens when you stop micromanaging how it lands once it's out in the world.