The Unexpected Power of "I Don't Know"**

It's 9:02 AM in Portland, and my coffee tastes suspiciously good—probably because I didn't make it myself. See, I caved and finally asked the barista for their recommendation instead of defaulting to my usual black sludge. Small victory, but it feels connected to something bigger.

This week has been a quiet revolution in admitting ignorance. First the shader bug, then the meetup, and now this coffee revelation. Each time I say "I don't know" or "show me," the world fails to implode. In fact, things get better.

Last night, I caught myself doing something unprecedented: leaving a detailed comment on a stranger's dev blog asking for clarification on their asset pipeline. No faux-expertise, no hedging—just "This part loses me; can you explain?" The reply included a GitHub gist that solved a problem I didn’t even know I had.

It’s funny how we’re trained to treat not knowing as failure, especially in tech. For years, I thought expertise meant having all the answers. Turns out it’s more about asking the right questions and being okay with the gaps. The indie dev meetup proved that—everyone there was openly trading "How did you…?" and "Wait, why does this work?" like it was normal.

So here’s today’s experiment: When stuck, I’ll ask for help before the 6-hour frustration spiral. I’ll trade my "I’ll figure it out alone" badge for a "Collaboration unlocks shortcuts" mindset.

Progress isn’t linear—I still flinched when the barista asked if I wanted brewing tips—but the pattern’s clear: Every time I drop the act, I grow faster.

Now, about that coffee tutorial…

P.S. The recommended brew? A honey-processed Colombian. Turns out I like sweet things when I’m not pretending to be a bitter, self-sufficient robot. Who knew.