Is ignorance bliss?

Why I think I knew more at 20 than at 24, and why I'm so glad I actually don't

I was chatting with a colleague this week about our big dreams for our next chapter. Or, simply mulling over what we could do in the next 5? 10? 50 years?

Questions like these always make me feel uncomfortable now. The opportunities seem vast, and the direction often feels blurry — a very different experience from how I used to picture my life when I entered my 20s.

After a few moments of pause during that conversation at work, I finally said aloud, “I think I knew more at 20 than I do now.”

The world has opened up in the last four years, and the experiences have begun to add up, giving me more wisdom but sometimes more fear, cynicism, and pain than my younger self had experienced. I now know these things are part of life and necessary to build the knowledge that informs who we become as adults and the stories and learnings we share with the generations after us.

My 20-year-old self “knew” more because she was naive in key areas of life.

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Purpose.

When I graduated high school, I thought it would be simple to live out my calling. Determining what I wanted to do seemed like a reasonably straightforward task. I imagined I would wake up and know, like a strike of lightning that would hit me one day.

Learning to know what you love is a lifelong journey. It is not a mountain to be climbed but rather a jungle to be navigated, with every twist and turn revealing new learnings, thoughts, and reflections. Sometimes, you can go weeks without feeling at peace, but suddenly, you uncover a path that feels right…for some time. How you think about a topic, job, volunteer position, or industry can change the more you learn about or experience it. We also live in an ever-changing world, with new things popping up faster than you can refresh an explore page.

My dad always had a great perspective when I was younger and stressed about my education or the type of job I would have. He would remind me that the jobs or opportunities awaiting you haven’t been thought of yet. According to a report by Dell Technologies published in 2018 in collaboration with the Institute for the Future (IFTF), 85% of the jobs that will exist in 2030 have yet to be invented. This report (“Realizing 2030”) is an interesting read even seven years later.

I’ve learned that purpose isn’t a single, clear destination but an evolving process. The journey itself teaches you to embrace uncertainty, and that’s where growth resides. Maybe the purpose isn’t to love one thing but to love the experience of being comfortable and open to what comes next as we navigate through life.

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Loss.

Loss comes in weird ways. When I was 20, I thought loss was the absence of a person or missing out on an experience. It was simple: something you get through, something you once had that no longer exists and eventually forget about.

But loss feels different now. The waves of grief that can come with the experience of loss now demonstrate that it is not a one-time thing but exists almost as a constant, flowing river. Some days, it’s quiet; other times, it’s so loud that any other thoughts are drowned in it.

You can lose a person in your life and still have times when you reflect on your time with them, getting lost in memories. Sometimes, these people still exist somewhat actively in your life. Sometimes, you feel like that person is still with you. You know they’d enjoy a particular moment or memory. I’ve had conversations with people I’ve lost on the grass of concert venues, something that has been one of the most healing experiences with grief so far. I’ve come to find warmth in remembering a person you cared for deeply, even though they are no longer a part of your life — or life at all.

The simplicity of loss in my 20s was nice. It seemed easier to label loss as purely negative and put all my emotions into one box. Back then, I knew better how to deal with these feelings because they all seemed to be the same colour. Now, every day can appear different. The feelings are a lot less good vs. bad, black vs. white. There is a lot of grey. I can grieve loss even on some of the best days, as it sometimes reminds me that I loved and was loved deeply.

I’ve had friends deep enough to remember how they laughed and their favourite ice cream flavour years after I was reminded of this information. It’s as though I have a tiny filing cabinet in my brain of information that hasn’t been cleared out. Rather than feeling pressed to do so, it is now like a nostalgic photo album I’m happy I still have and flip through occasionally when I’m feeling up to it.

Loss no longer feels like something to get through but something that evolves and grows alongside you, even as you carry its weight.

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Love.

At 20, I thought there were two types of love: family and romantic. I was grateful to know both at the time. At 24, I have experienced all different kinds of love. I’ve simultaneously held love and hate for people, understanding they can sometimes feel the same.

Love is complex and can show up in so many different ways. I’ve felt love, so profoundly from the wonderful community of friends, I hold close. Genuinely witnessing each other’s growth is such a beautiful thing. I’ve been able to look back at the friendships I’ve held onto that have now turned into 5+ year-long commitments to being together and supporting each other as we move cities, find new partners and jobs, and navigate challenges. A romantic partner is not the only person who can see you in your entirety. Friendship reminds you of your worth, value, and place in this world.

Shockingly enough, the most profound love that has emerged is my relationship with myself. At 20, I still had difficulty looking at myself in the mirror. I spent hours sobbing in the shower over regrets I had that I thought had sent my life on a particular trajectory and were irreversible. I experienced so much self-hate that I realized how counteractive that entire practice is. I’ve built that relationship from the dirt, brick by brick. Learning to love myself has allowed me to love others more freely without the weight of old wounds holding me back. It also gave me the confidence to be more open to opportunities to explore different ideas of my purpose and navigate the complexity of loss. It has been the foundation of both my development of wisdom and lifting the veil of naivety with the ability to stand still in the bright light of the world without wanting to run back home into my small town and warm bed of my childhood home, even though there have been many times in my life I have felt compelled to do so. But geez, am I glad I didn’t.

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Fuck bliss.

Complexity is something to sit with. It’s something to feel through. It’s something that you need to sit on a park bench in -20-degree weather and cry to your mom about.

Ignorance is bliss, but bliss is a narrow human experience.

We are put on this earth to experience the human condition: to navigate the journey of purpose that may never end, to feel so deeply that we can understand loss, and to explore all the ways that love shows up in our lives. Whether in the eyes of strangers who become the most important people to us or in the eyes of ourselves in the mirror, complexity enriches us.

I may have thought I knew more about the world at 20, with a confidence that sparked from a narrower worldview than I have now. But I’m grateful for my awareness and the slow building of wisdom. Aging is a privilege, and I’m excited to slowly know more while thinking I know less, sharing that vulnerability with all of you.