Certainty stands on the mountaintop of indeterminacy. To bear the cold nights and the whipping wind, he puts on many layers of decisiveness. Deep under his shell of outer layers, he's warming up to the ideas of his best friends, Chaos and Confusion. Only those able to extract Certainty from his cozy hiding place will know he's a failed contender, scared and alone, just putting up a solid front. There is always too much turbulence in his line of vision, whether or not he lets on otherwise.
A lot of people have a heightened sense of naiveté when Certainty comes waltzing around. The second grader that is so sure one and one makes two gets confused when the quiet girl in the corner rejects his invitation to go get ice cream after school. The man that is so vehement on casting blame withdraws himself from the situation when evidence piles up against his train of thought. Certainty knows this and savors the sweet taste of victory. Little does he know the deliciousness is as fake as his front, the arguments as reliable as his penetrable layers of clothing.
It only takes one run-in with Certainty to figure out you should never go back. When you're stuck on Mount Everest with nothing warm to wear, he will come along, posing as your long lost hero with a winter jacket. He'll fail you for everything you're worth, and when your real friends bring you back to the cold, you'll remember you were better off thrown and obscure. You'll realize you should have listened to them from the start.
Don't trust Certainty. He can't even trust himself.
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