September 1, 2025: Learned, Knowledgeable, Foolish, Wise, and a Love Story

Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children. Kahlil Gibran

The greatest lesson in life is to know that even fools can be right sometimes. Winston Churchill

Logical consequences are the scarecrows of fools and the beacons of wise men. Thomas Huxley

Life is one fool thing after another, whereas love is two fool things after each other. Oscar Wilde

Trying to avoid being foolish altogether is merely the gathering hole for fools.

One sure way to be a fool is to think one knows everything.  That fool has no break in their day.

Another path guaranteeing a foolish arrival is to assume one’s interpretation is unquestionable.

One way or the other, most learning is associative—as in one thing means another thing is in play. Learning is both individual and collective, which doesn’t necessarily mean at the same time.

There are at least three areas involving knowledge: known, unknown, and unknowable.

Known and unknown are highly subject to change.  Unknowable means not available.

Being foolish, learned, or knowledgeable can be a pain in the ass.  Unlike being foolish, learning can be one of life’s beautiful feelings.  Knowledge includes accepting the unknowable.  That can also be a pain.

Being wise involves foolishness, learning, knowledge, and love. However, wisdom involves another variable: being steeped in quietness.

I am not so wise, though I am a bit learned and possess some knowledge. I am a ton foolish.

Nearly 80, I am more amazed than ever at life’s variables, pain in the rear aperture or not.

Foolishness continues, but I’m almost quiet about it (not quite yet serene).

Though an eon late, I’ve become smidgen-wise, including about me.

How I see it, for what it’s worth:

There are orientations both innate and learned—including learning about the innate part.

I’ve sought wisdom from an early age, though I had zero idea what I was seeking.

I was 5 when I discovered I was angry. I had no idea why. Later I realized anger also involved depression. Ouch.

Perhaps about 12, I learned I love to learn.

Perhaps about 14 I learned what an asshole I can be.

I was 18 when I realized I would die one day. That learning created some serious pondering.

I was 20 when I got “married” because I caved. It was an act of cowardice that sobered me up. That bit of foolishness lasted less than 2 years.

I was about 22 when I learned how I’d been projecting “should” onto others and the world despite how uncomfortable I was about having “should” projected onto me. All of that was about “shoulding” on ourselves and others.

I was about 25 when I had my first inkling about love—and that love was not something I chose, but something that was.  I knew I could choose to stay or go.

It was also about 25 when I realized I did not choose to be heterosexual, I just was.

I also learned I hoped to be married, though I had almost no idea what that meant other than guessing it was about intimacy, which I felt was about being honest with each other.

I had my first understanding there were different levels of intimacy: friends, children, parents, and an imagined woman.  The latter seemed to be the penultimate level of intimacy.

I was about 27 when I realized it could be a lot more fun to explore a woman’s fantasies than to explore my own.

I was about 29 when I realized my death was the penultimate intimacy, but that all the other levels of intimacy were involved.

I was 30 when I married again. To the woman I married 10 years earlier. We had been hanging out for the last 5 years.  This time, intimacy had a chance.

I was near 40 when I was divorced again.  There were 3 children and I was going to be a single father.  I sort of was anyway, but it’s more complicated than that.

I was near 42 when I got married to a woman who clearly seemed to be my best shot at intimacy. She had a child. Ahh, children again!

I was about 45 when I realized I had been romanticizing intimacy. Honesty can be hard work. Besides, intimacy was but one of 3 variables—the other 2 are passion and commitment.

I was about 50 when I divorced again—because intimacy et.al was still not in play. Now I knew for sure men were not the only culprits in the way. Women could screw things up at least as well.

I did not divorce the stepchild, nor did they off me. That still seems amazing.

I also realized marriage was really a ceremony announcing a couple would formally give intimacy et.al a try. Divorce was formally announcing it didn’t work.

Within a year, I again found myself in love (whaaat?!?), a feeling I now had major suspicions about. She was, however, an upgrade, even if chaos ruled—still.

I was nearly 55 when I broke up with her. It also broke my heart, which I was beginning to learn was a good thing. Nonetheless, she remains in my heart to this day, but I am heartened she seems to have found herself and her man.

9 months later, I met another woman (am I clearly on a hamster wheel?). It couldn’t be. She had a different path. I bravely sent her on her way. I had no idea what she really meant to me. Later, I found out she had no idea what I meant to her.

In the ensuing 20 years since the woman I had to send along her way, I had about 3 more attempts at intimacy and its companions. 3 more that didn’t work. I was learning that “goodness of fit” was the issue. Love did not mean compatibility.

I learned that the saying “the only common denominator in your failed relationships is you” is a load of crap. Love is difficult for all of us.

It was only recently I realized I was monogamous and had been since the hormones got flowing. Monogamy meant there was 2, but it did not mean a “ball and chain” or “tying the knot.” Exploring together, arguing together, sitting together, being honest with each other are the “chopping wood, carrying water, and gathering snacks” of an intimate, passionate, and commitment to a love life.

Secrets, on the other hand, are the murderers of a love life.

There is incredible divergence in love, intimacy, passion, commitment, and monogamy—there is no “one way.”  But between 2 folk, there needs to be an agreement about what a goodness of fit is. And it’s not a static agreement.

Secrets can happen.  But secrets divulged are the courage that feeds love, loosens entanglements, and are the foundations of wisdom, the wonder of learning, the ability to own being foolish, the doorway allowing love to enter, and what smooths facing death without getting lost.

I also learned that an individual can succeed alone.  Mostly that looks like what happens.  But being honestly married is ultimately an easier way to dance with life, love, and death.

I am nearly 80 and realize I have found what eluded me in all the previous years. Of course, I hold out I could be deluded. Nonetheless, I am feeling much better now about my life, love, and my future departure.

A corollary: Civility is like a journey of love. That bedrock is also made up of being learned, knowledgeable, foolish, wise, and in love with at least the previous 4 variables. While only one of those is guaranteed, there appears to be other guarantees: life, death, and love itself.

I am still chasing wisdom (perhaps it’s also chasing me), still learning, still foolish, possessing some knowledge, and clearly feeling more love and peace. There is more life in me yet and I am still filled with wonder and amazement about what is to come. I also continue to keep the possibility of delusion open for discussion and realization. After all, it is a “divine comedy.”

Irrigators channel waters; fletchers straighten arrows; carpenters bend wood; the wise master themselves. Buddha