I’m not bad at anything that I do.
That’s both the most high-browed, nose-in-the-air sentence I’ve ever typed, and also incredibly true. I’m not bad at anything that I do because I don’t DO anything that I’m bad at.
Call it perfectionism, a crippling fear of failure, or perhaps an actual ability to be high achieving like a circus performer I’m able to balance all the plates I pick up without letting any crash onto the floor. I can dance through with straight A’s and good friends and the “right” resume (for the most part). I can get excellent reviews. At the things that I do. Because I only do things that I already know I am good (or preferably great) at doing.
You can scroll past and think that I sound like another try-hard who needs to loosen up and realize that it isn’t that serious (you wouldn’t be entirely wrong in that). But, I know that I’m not alone in thinking this. I know this because of all the “wouldn’t it be cool if…..but I would never” conversations that I hear swirling around me. With friends, from strangers talking to each other on public transportation, from family, and from other online-oversharers. We’re all afraid to try.
Trying is inherently vulnerable. Trying something new is somehow even more vulnerable. You look ridiculous. You don’t know how to stand right. How to talk right. If you’re like me, in any “new” circumstance you try to fade into the air and wonder if anyone else is noticing that you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do with your hands.
But, here’s the thing. In the absence of trying, life gets boring. Life becomes a story of “almost”, “I could’ve”, and “I wish I’d”. All the “it’s too scary” plans stack up in the corner while you stay in the beige of what seems safe. To me that is more terrifying than the possibility that someone could send a screenshot of something that I wrote and say “Oh my god. I can’t believe she’s actually doing that. That’s so embarrassing” (just an example of what I’m 97% sure is happening somewhere).
That’s the dual-factor prevention in trying. There’s the self-inflicted “oh my god it’s so embarrassing that I don’t already know how to organize a group meet-up between students from every healthcare program in Boston” side of things (for a real-world example that’s stressing me out presently). But, there is also the dark corner that’s filled up with people whispering about how ridiculous you look for moving out of your designated space.
When you hear those whispers and judgments, it’s so easy to think that they’ll fade if you just GET GOOD ENOUGH. It’s not that simple, I’m sorry.
Trying never gets pretty. Especially not to the people whose voices make up the noise. If you had asked me when I was 21 and confused about how setting a school record would make my own teammates treat me like a disease, this would be a different essay. This would be an essay about shrinking down, trying to blend in, trying to hide that I was trying to be good, and cautioning anyone against trying anything new.
When I graduated and my plans fell out from under me, the first thought in my head was “Oh my god. This is going to give them all the ammunition they’ve ever wanted to rip me apart. [This one person in particular] is going to dance on the grave of my failed athletic career”. I was paralyzed by the whispers that I couldn’t even hear.
But, then I realized. I couldn’t hear them. I was away from all that noise, and yet, I still had my ear trained to pick up the comments about why I was weird/hopeless/ugly/selfish/mean or whatever it is that was getting whispered at that moment in time. How stupid is that? To live and die by the judgment of people who don’t (and will never) like you. To shape yourself into someone that people who you don’t like might not hate. An absolute waste of energy.
So, I took a second. I thought about what it was that I might actually do if I couldn’t hear the people rooting for me to fail. Then I moved to San Francisco. I applied to the grad school that I thought I wasn’t smart enough to attend. I flew to Australia by myself and went snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef. I flew to Germany just to see a Taylor Swift concert. I fell into and then out of love. I wore clothes that I felt pretty in rather than what I thought might make it the most obvious that I wasn’t “trying” to be pretty in so that I could shield my appearance from being a target as well. I finally realized that keeping my head down was giving me a crick in my neck, and I looked up. Did you know that there is a whole world beyond the opinions of people who don’t care about you?
I was still scared that they might whisper if I did something public-facing, though. I was still writing in my notes app, so no one would see. But then I hit publish for the first time. The ceiling didn’t collapse on me. I didn’t hear a sudden swirl of whispered criticism from everyone in the cafe. Nothing changed. As far as I know, nobody new hates me now.
It’s still scary. I still feel ridiculous for trying something just because it’s fun, without knowing if I am actually “good”. I still worry I’m not doing enough. I cringe at how I might be falling short. I compare myself constantly. I’m still here trying, though, and I hope I keep trying new things without being so fixated on the voices coming from the sidelines.
So, maybe I should amend my earlier statement. Within the past two years, I’m not bad at anything that I do because I’m still trying. It’s too early to make a binary good-bad judgment call. I’m still trying. I’m still in progress.
Anyway, that’s all from me,
<3 Becky :)
The first few paragraphs hit me so hard girl, I FEEL YOU. Up until I finished university, I never did anything I was bad at. I thought I was putting myself out of my comfort zone, but really, I was just doing *more* of the things I already knew how to do well. And piling one plate high doesn't do anything for the other empty plates at your personal buffet table (idk where this metaphor came from).
It took a bit of brain-rewiring, but I think graduating university and entering the big, scary "real world" did wonders for this. Suddenly, no one was grading me on my work. Sure, I had an adult job, but I quickly learned that the corporate world is more a game of social skills than it is actual work-related skills (at least in my company). Also, I was living in a new town far away from anyone I went to university or high school with. Unless I posted about something on social media, none of them would ever know what I was up to.
It was scary, at first, all these changes. Then it was freeing.
I could try new hobbies in my spare time and I could be terrible at them, and not only would nobody care, nobody would even *know* if I didn't want them to.
Your paragraph about listening to the voices you can't hear is still so relatable though. Even if no one could see me failing, or learning, my brain was anticipating what they would say if they could. Why the hell do we do that? I mean, okay, probably has to do with some evolutionary instinct to anticipate danger, I get it. But man, talk about limitations for no reason.
I heard something somewhere, once, that basically said "assuming other people are judging you actually makes YOU judgmental of THEM, not the other way around." In other words, it's actually rude of YOU to make the assumption that someone else, especially a stranger, is going to have cruel thoughts about you.
I think about that sentiment all the time. Instead of automatically assuming the strangers in the gym are internally laughing at me, I rephrase my self-talk into: "they're probably remembering when they first started learning this exercise, and are proud of another person for trying, too." Because you know what? Those are the kind of thought I have about other people, usually. So why wouldn't anyone think such a thing about me?
This has been a long ass comment, but all this to say, I understand you, and I think it's great to try things you're unskilled at, either publicly or privately. It would be a shame to die doing the same handful of things you became good at in your teens or twenties.
Cheers to lifelong learning!!