The funny thing about writing an opinion column is that I’m expected to have opinions all the time. Every two weeks, I have to decide on a new opinion, like an emperor shrieking commands. I decide this, I decide that. I know things!

The problem with an opinion is that sooner or later, I look back on it and think the complete opposite (Monday, I like fried eggs; Tuesday, I do not). I’m wary of anyone who takes an extreme stance on anything besides kindergarten lessons—e.g. empathy, equality, hand-washing.

Of course, there are a few things about which I’m absolutely certain. For instance, I find “Cats: The Musical” to be terrifying and any person who enjoys a musical about jellicle cats to probably be terrifying. I also think circuses are cruel and humans can be cruel too. But in a world full of fake news, celebrity presidents and “Titanic II (a 2010 direct-to-video, the ending of which won’t surprise you), it’s hard to be sure about much more.

We at Bowdoin take ourselves very seriously—and rightfully so. We know big words. We’ve developed sharp analytical and critical thinking skills to examine and critique the world around us. Bowdoin is bursting with intelligent people who craft intelligent opinions. But sometimes we act like we know everything.

In elementary school, I knew everything. I ensured that everyone around me was aware of my superior intelligence. I once accidently watched a “Dateline” about a woman who was buried alive by an ex-lover. The next day, I told my classmates that “it happened all the time,” which resulted in angry phone calls from their mothers to mine. I also spent a whole afternoon scolding a friend for wearing a training bra because “she had no boobs.” My certainty was cruel and oblivious. Arguments began with pointed insults (“You’re wrong”) and ended in tears (“I hate you”). I flawlessly embodied Parents Magazine’s “Know-it-all Phase.”

Now, I have an opinion column—in which I’m supposed to boast intellect—and I know nothing. Sure, I am a person—a millennial (ugh)—who judges everything and everyone around me. In fact, I spend a significant portion of my time specifically trying to judge other people, writing down habits and mannerisms (conversations, body language) to use later in stories. But I rarely feel experienced or educated enough to make total judgment on a topic. In the spirit of Einstein and Socrates and the Red Hot Chili Peppers: “the more I see, the less I know.”

An opinion column is tricky because it can easily become a Password Journal of complaints. Not many people write articles about how satisfied they are, because not many people would read those articles. Those articles would be cheesy as heck—cheesier than saying cheesy as heck. There’s an inherent self-indulgence in writing an opinion column, particularly when someone—me—has so few solidified opinions.

It is also easy to critique something for the sake of critiquing. This article will be critiqued because it’s in the Orient, or because I offended someone two years ago at Crack House (when there was such a thing as Crack House), or because maybe it’s just bad.

Of course, I too can be a cynical person. I believe I mask my sneering bitterness quite well. My father has claimed—on multiple occasions—that the voices of our generation sound the same: skeptical, sarcastic echoes. I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing. I also don’t think anyone should stop standing up for their opinions. I just fear the extremities. I think it’s healthy to admit uncertainty, to embrace disagreement.

The world is full of unanswered questions. Like, why does the Ad Council make such awful ads if its only job is to make ads? We may never know. I do hope we can acknowledge the privilege of our education as well as the limits. Listening beats pontificating—it also improves relationships (happy V-Day). We are always evolving. Even in the length of this article, I’ve changed my mind.

Bowdoin is a farrago (me boasting intellect) of opportunity and education, a place of failure and growth. I am trying to give things a chance—things like “The Bachelor” and jogging and sociology. I may never be the smartest person in the room, but there is freedom in not knowing things. There is wisdom in not knowing things. Sometimes, you need to sound like a fortune cookie in order to express your feelings. This is one of those times. I’m hoping to grow through mistakes. Michael Scott (“The Office”) was the regional manager of Dunder Mifflin Scranton for nearly 19 years, and he knew next to nothing.

An unrelated PSA: to whom it may concern, the toilets in Buck have a flush button for a reason. I may not know everything, but I know the unflushed toilet is a fitness epidemic that must be stopped.