Idea | Bumble Road – The Magic of “I Don’t Know” Action
To bumble is to take uncertain action. Bumbling, fumbling, floundering engagement with the material world educates differently, opens portals to new dimensions not available when we only think about taking action.
If you want something and don’t know how to get it, try blundering forward. The bumble road is open to any endeavor—marketing, creativity, relationships, health, finances—everything, including desperate fearfulness…
One September afternoon a few years ago, the sky turned a bilious orange from a wildfire near my Pacific Northwest town, which I’d recently moved to. I knew no one, didn’t have a car, and suddenly felt desperately afraid. With a squeak, I entered a mode we’ll refer to as full chipmunk (Oh my god. Oh my god. What should I do? What should I do?). Air quality levels rose higher than my phone’s weather app could measure. I whimpered and gave reality the silent treatment.
In a comic state of ineptitude, I proceeded to engage in a series of dubious actions. I toured my apartment to snap photos of all my belongings, in case I never saw them again. Then I packed who-knew-what into a rolling suitcase (pretty sure cans of fish and a can opener made it in there). I called for a Lyft and decamped to (it’s okay if you laugh) Walmart.
My bumble-thought was that I’d be safer on the opposite side of town from the wildfire, and Walmart’s enormous and impersonal space appealed to me as a destination. I could, like, hide there, with other humans. Or something. Whatever. Basically, someone else would be in charge. I was so done trying to be in charge of my own safety.
I ran my suitcase into the store, holding my breath in the smoky air, eyes skittering all around. Inside, slowly, I managed a breath of relief. Whoa. Look at all these people not freaking out. A couple emerged from a check-out lane steering a monster cart loaded with a huge wall-mounted TV screen. Veg on! I mentally cheered their determination to turn off reality.
For an hour, I roamed the brightly lit aisles, marveling at all the what-nots and doodads, once-familiar items my distressed brain found no words for. Eventually, I claimed a wide bench in the deserted hinterland of the shoes department, unpacked a snack, and settled in with my Kindle.
In spite of full-chipmunk mode and not knowing what to do, I’d found a refuge. An odd refuge, to be sure, but it was enough to allow me to reclaim some sovereignty and calm down.
After several uneventful hours, the troublesome winds changed direction and I returned home. Rain arrived to freshen the air and dampen the flames.
However, the aftermath of that trauma wouldn’t release me.
Weeks later, on a call with a wise friend, I shared my ongoing fears about wildfires, which felt extreme and debilitating. After a thoughtful pause, my friend said, “So, you think wildfires are bad?”
Her question made my brain short-circuit. Wait. What?
A portal opened into another dimension.
I started with internet searches, then gathered my courage and began calling people in my area, questing for information about What if wildfires aren’t bad? I wanted to know what alternative perspectives might be happening near me about wildfires. I learned about indigenous people’s long-held practices of burning forest underbrush, about current programs for controlled burns, and about interagency and tribal efforts to educate, prevent, and prepare.
I may have cried.
That other world I stumbled into began to heal the trauma, but not in ways I expected, and not yet enough. I couldn’t see beyond the next call or local website. I didn’t know what to do, but I kept trying, kept asking and innocently searching, like a hurt child in need of succor.
Somewhere, at some point in that stretch of the bumble road, I was directed to a bare-bones internet page with a blank box asking me to enter my email address to get on a mailing list for information that seemed pretty interesting. Okay. Whatever. Done. I blundered on.
Weeks later, an email arrived inviting me to join a Zoom call on which some people would talk about wildfire issues in the region. Sure. Why not? I might as well lurk and hear what they had to say.
Except I arrived on the call to find a dozen very specialized wildfire experts gathered to pool their prodigious knowledge. Oh geez. Attendees included representatives from government agencies and indigenous tribes, a legal-political person working on wildfire-related laws, and a university educator. As they introduced themselves, most of them also casually referred to their credentials and experience with fighting real wildfires.
Finally, everyone turned their attention to me. I briefly considered hitting the button to leave the call. Instead, I gulped and said, “Hi. I’m a member of the public who was traumatized by a recent fire near my town. I can… um… leave, if you want?” But everyone smiled and welcomed me and encouraged me to stay. Embarrassed but determined, I paid attention and tried to follow their discussion.
It wasn’t until after the call ended and I’d calmed down that the revelation landed: I don’t have to solve this issue myself. Somehow, my INFJ / HSP sense of conscientious caring and responsibility had converted my personal trauma into a mandate to solve the wildfires issue so everyone will be safe.
That Zoom call with experts who laughed and engaged with collective bonhomie and obvious long association with each other, along with their awesome ideas about what to do, stunned me. Plus, I realized, they were merely a handful of the brilliant, dedicated people working on wildfires issues. The pros were on it. With those unexpected realizations, the majority of my fears loosened and fell away.
I don’t have to solve the whole issue. I only need to hug my innocent self.
Meeting and interacting with those experts in real time flipped a switch untouched by my internet research, perhaps because not only did I meet them, they met me. I felt acknowledged.
After that, I was able to think better and make more grown-up decisions to care for myself, including increasing my renter’s insurance coverage, digitizing important documents, getting a fireproof satchel for my valuables, and finding sources for non-alarmist information. In addition, the next summer I escaped for August and September to the wet, lush eastern U.S. to temporarily reside in the guest rooms of friends, thus avoiding the West Coast fire season altogether and giving my nervous system space to further recover.
You can flail. You don’t have to take perfect or mature or certain action in order to move forward and find amazing solutions.
Allow yourself to engage, connect, act—even if you don’t know what to do or how to do it. Bumble the marketing tactics. Blunder through the family reunion. Experiment with a financial decision. Screw up the next chapter of your book. What if you discover that you're more resilient and capable than you thought you were?
Here are a few of the many ways to travel the bumble road:
Try something
Take tiny action
Keep going
Try anything
Do something you haven’t done before
Ask someone a question
Proceed without answers
Start over
Pick a direction at random and begin
Do an experiment
Try something else
Try again
I'll probably see you on the bumble road. I'm a frequent traveler there (this is about my fifth attempt to write this article).
The Photo Above | Expanded View
Most Sundays when I lived in Freiburg, Germany, a friend and I would take all-day hikes, often exploring the Kaiserstuhl region and its picturesque vineyards. I loved moments like this one, when the high walls of a path suddenly spurted us into a wide view.
This is what travel on the bumble road can feel like: constriction and limited views, but if you keep going... wow.
Photo by Grace Kerina
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Grace Kerina is the author of Personal Boundaries for Highly Sensitive People and other resources for quiet people. She has more than twenty years of experience helping writers and other creators find their true voices. Get her free ebook 7 Liberating Life Hacks for Highly Sensitive People when you subscribe to her newsletter. She also writes novels as Alice Archer.