Hi I'm actually a person

Let us imagine the collective sum of all human knowledge as a mountain. To reach the peak is to be omniscient.

I am the sort of person who speaks softly and rarely, and I am not often wrong. I was recently confronted by the upsetting news that one of my dear friends, with whom I spend much time in debate or else as a teacher, "thinks extremely highly of (my) intelligence. And it seems like (my) knowledge on any given topic is boundless." Despite my best attempts to model not knowing, to show the research process I employ to make sure I am only sharing true things, and to admit loudly every time I am proven wrong, they still think this. And I think it's because my education level is so far beyond theirs that they have very little to teach me; they only see me teaching them.

I have climbed higher on The Mountain. I have seen much more of it. My understanding of this section of it, the cliff face that is a BS in Nutrition and Food Science with as many extra courses about everything under the sun as I could afford, is relatively robust. There are countless others who have studied longer, climbed higher, gone deeper, and know every pebble here like the back of their own hands. There are countless others still who have gotten to the same little ledge as me, gone back down, and climbed up an entirely different path to get an entirely new view.

I am content to explore The Mountain from here, for now. I will take hikes along the many paths leading from this place, and look closely at all the facets of The Mountain that I can currently see. I can tell you about what your cravings mean, why energy drinks have so much Vitamin B, how vaccines actually work, that undersea internet cables are protected from ocean water in part by Vaseline, and far more info than anyone asked for about the invention and popularization of women's public restrooms.

And when I get the chance, I will help others who are trying to make their own climbs. I like when I get to share the company of another in this little glade on this little plateau, before we part ways to explore more of The Mountain in our own ways.

But you’ve got to understand that I’m nowhere near the top. There are vast swaths of knowledge that completely elude me. And I see absolutely no point in wasting my efforts describing to people a part of The Mountain which I can see in the distance, but with no real clarity or detail, let alone one which I cannot see at all. You’ll get much better information about that part of The Mountain if you ask someone who is standing right there on it. And you’ll get much better information from me if you ask about a part of The Mountain which I can see clearly.

Would you ask someone who has never visited Alaska what it’s like to live there? Or would you seek out someone who has lived there to ask?

Would you ask someone who has never tasted a pluot to describe the flavor to you? Or would you ask someone who has eaten many?

Would you ask a second grader for help with a calculus question? Or would you seek out a person who has taken at least one calculus class?

Sometimes even really smart people just straight up don’t know.

From the perspective of someone trying to climb up to meet me, they think I see everything. They don’t realize that I reached the top of the cliff and saw a hell of a lot of mountain yet to climb. They’re far enough down this cliff face that they cannot yet see the next one, see the sheer volume of things yet to be learned, and the layers upon layers of complexity to them, more than an onion the size of the moon… I can tell you that The Mountain exists, and you can try to imagine it, but you can’t actually see The Mountain for yourself. You don’t truly grasp how much mountain there is beyond this little shelf. I don’t even grasp how much mountain there is; I can only see one face of it. I have no idea how far it extends. But I know that I don’t have that information, and so I keep trying to tell people that I don’t have that information, but some people have internalized the idea that those sufficiently higher on The Mountain must have reached the top and can see it all. Or at least have reached high enough to know how big The Mountain is, to have a general idea of its size and shape.

But I’m looking at the most enormous thing to have ever existed, that may or may not extend to and past the horizon outside of my view, and may or may not climb eternally higher into the sky, it's summit hidden by the gentle curve of the Earth, with an infinitely complex amount of detail to every tiny little microscopic piece of it.

When I’m not trying to help people climb until they can truly behold the incomprehensible wonder before us, The Mountain of all knowledge past present and future, I’m continuing my own exploration. Identifying the next ledge up, another hand hold, the next crevice I want to explore, or looking over the edge and trying to understand how other people have reached this ledge with entirely different views the whole way here.

I’m still climbing.

I know I’ll never come close to the top. No one will. Collective exploration is the only way we can ever attempt to grasp the scale of the knowable. This is why people devote their entire lives to the smallest facets of The Mountain, to the smallest nooks and niches. It's so that we can collectively understand the universe better. This is why we have specialization, and experts, and why it's okay for one person to not have an opinion on every single thing ever. It's okay to not know.