I never said most of the things I said.

Listen, O Seeker of Wisdom, to the words of Yogi Berra, who said, "I never said most of the things I said." These words, though spoken in jest, carry within them a profound reflection on the nature of language, interpretation, and the elusive qualities of truth. Yogi Berra, a man of unparalleled wit and insight, was a master of the paradox. This phrase, seemingly nonsensical, invites us to ponder the very essence of human communication—how words, once spoken, often take on a life of their own, growing beyond the intention of their maker, slipping through the cracks of understanding and becoming distorted by the listener's mind.

In this world of words and symbols, it is easy to become entrapped in the notion that our speech carries a precise and unyielding meaning. Yet, as Berra’s playful admission reveals, the truth is more elusive. Language is a fragile vessel, easily broken or warped, its meaning twisted by the tides of time, context, and perception. One might speak with the purest intent, only to see their words interpreted in ways they never imagined, their meaning altered by the listener’s frame of reference. The sage knows this: that truth, when uttered, is like a river that bends and shifts its course depending on the lands it touches.

Recall, if you will, the great philosopher Socrates, who often spoke in riddles and paradoxes, guiding his students not with direct answers, but with questions that led them to self-discovery. Socrates, too, understood the limitations of language, how even the wisest words could lead astray if one did not approach them with humility and a recognition of the subjective nature of truth. His dialectic method was designed not to provide certainty, but to encourage deeper inquiry into the self and the world. Just as Socrates might have said, the quest for truth is not about finding final answers, but in understanding the complexity of our questions.

In a similar vein, Yogi Berra’s statement speaks not to a mere joke, but to the deeper paradox of life itself: that the more we speak, the less certain we become. In the grand narrative of existence, there is an inherent humility in admitting that our words may not fully capture the essence of what we intend to express. The wise person knows that communication, like life, is filled with uncertainty, that we often misunderstand one another, even when we are speaking from the same heart. Yet, this does not mean that we should remain silent; rather, it calls us to speak with care, with awareness that words are not absolute truths, but reflections of our limited understanding.

Consider the story of Heraclitus, the ancient philosopher who believed that all things are in a state of constant flux. He famously said, "You cannot step into the same river twice," for the water is always flowing, always changing. Likewise, words, once spoken, are never the same again; they take on new meanings with each passing moment, shaped by the context, the listener, and the time. Just as a river’s waters change, so too do the meanings of our words, slipping away from their original course and sometimes returning to us as something unfamiliar. In this way, Berra’s words resonate with the ancient wisdom that language is but a fleeting reflection of the greater, unknowable truths of existence.

But what then can we learn from this paradox, from Berra’s playful acknowledgment of the imprecision of speech? The lesson is clear: humility in our communication. The wise person speaks not with the illusion of possessing absolute truth, but with the recognition that their words are limited, incomplete, and subject to misinterpretation. We must embrace the imperfection of our language and approach the words of others with a spirit of understanding and forgiveness, knowing that what is said may not be what was meant, and that in this tangled web of human interaction, we are all at times misunderstood.

The practical lesson, then, is this: Let us speak with awareness, knowing that our words may be misunderstood, and let us listen with patience, striving to understand the heart of the speaker. When misunderstandings arise, let us not rush to judgment, but seek to understand the deeper meaning behind the words. Let us also cultivate the courage to admit when we are wrong, to laugh at the absurdities of life, and to approach our communication with a light heart, much as Yogi Berra did. For in the end, as Berra so cleverly demonstrated, it is often in our paradoxes and contradictions that we find the most profound truths about ourselves and the world around us.