The "Half of It"

“You don’t know the half of it.”

It’s often said sarcastically, as though I either should know more than the half of whatever “it” is, or that I don’t deserve to know more than the half of it. Sometimes, it’s delivered like challenge, or an enticement, as though the storyteller is coercing me––daring me­––to dive deeper.

Sometimes, it’s said in utter despair, as though the other party is simply sparing us from the rest of story … the part we don’t want to hear.

I heard someone say this other day as I was grocery shopping. Two people, friends are at least acquaintances, had run into one another in the frozen foods section and took a moment to catch up. As I passed, I heard this exchange:

She:       “Wow, that’s too bad. They loved that house.”

He:         Yeah, well, you don’t know the half of it.”

And while I’ve heard it hundreds of times in my life, for some reason, it stuck with me as I went on with my shopping. And it got me thinking, “If I’m being honest, do I really want to know more than half what someone is telling me? Do I deserve to?”

Because in reality, if we’re not in “it” with you (whatever “it” is), of course we don’t know the half of it. And there’s no reason we should. Or even want to. And if you want or need to tell us about it, just nutshell it; give us the high (or low) points so we know our role in your story and let’s move on.

Besides, even if you told me everything about “it,” I would still probably not know the half of it because 1) I don’t listen very well (I'm working on that), 2) I forget things that don’t immediately pertain to me and 3) none of us (well, in my opinion) tell others––even those closest to us––the entire story, or even half of it. And if we do, we’re probably boring our friends and family to death on a regular basis.

Because most things, especially important, joyful, concerning or stressful things, have so many tentacles, branches and tributaries (depending on your preferred analogy), that someone else couldn’t possibly know or retain “the half of it.” And at some point, knowing more doesn’t add to the story; it just confuses things.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t––or won’t––listen to you or support you.

So, you’re right, When you tell me I don’t know “the half of it,” I don’t. Hell, most of the time I don’t know the half of my own shit.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Because I (probably) do. And I’m happy to listen to half (or some portion less than half) of your story; whatever portion you decide is right and appropriate for my ears.

I’ll listen to and process what you give me, laugh with you, cry with you, support you and cheer for you (depending on what you’re telling me), knowing there’s much more (maybe more than half) to the story I don’t know … and will likely never know.

Is this confusing? Maybe. But I’m making a point, and it’s this (Spoiler alert: it’s one that’s been made millions of times before): When someone tells us something about their life, it’s important to take a breath, a step back, and wait a beat (or maybe many beats) before we form opinions and judgment of our own about that person or their situation.

Why? You got it …

… because we don’t know the half of it.

I’m trying (in a time and in a world when it’s becoming increasing difficult to do so) to listen in order to understand, to respond vs. react, and to try and empathize with people’s “bigger” story––not just the half of it I know––before I make a judgment or say something stupid or hurtful.

I’m not sure I’m succeeding, but if I keep trying, maybe I can be a better ally for those around me, and maybe a better person in general.

© 2025 David R. Haznaw