noun

1. doubtfulness or uncertainty of meaning or intention: to speak with ambiguity; an ambiguity of manner.

2. an unclear, indefinite, or equivocal word, expression, meaning, etc.: a contract free of ambiguities; the ambiguities of modern poetry.

Gaaaaaah! My eyes!!!

As I’ve said before, I prefer it when things are explicit. When I understand without question what is happening or being communicated, I feel at ease; even if the outcome isn’t what I was hoping, at least I know it’s time to start mourning that fact.

Remove that surety and I spend an inordinate amount of energy trying to run down all of the iterations of the possible, probable, and likely. I uselessly attempt to imagine this near infinite variety of scenarios until I am exhausted and all but batshit crazy.

Needless to say, I am not a fan.

Rationally, I know that nothing is certain; no outcome guaranteed. I understand that even employing the most particular language to convey very specific intent does not ensure such results will occur. More, I understand that chaos is the rule of law. That spending time trying to intellectualize entropy is useless, exhausting, and like to make someone all but batshit crazy.

Ahem.

So, I have decided that instead of continuing my quest toward forcefully enacting universally explicit interpersonal communication, I’m going to try and practice sitting with ambiguity. To turn inward and listen to the panicked overwrought voice and simply hear what it says. Once I’ve heard it, to subject its assertions to reasonable scrutiny, and then accept or reject each premise on its merits. Or more likely, just sit there knowing that feelings aren’t usually that cooperative to this kind of treatment; that it’s okay to feel sad, uneasy, worried, or uncomfortable if that is the reaction I am having at the moment.

Of course, I’ll probably have to tell myself this explicitly a few times before it sinks in…