Maybe You Don't Fear Failure as Much as Looking Ridiculous
If you ask people why they don't try new things, they'll often say they're afraid of failing.
That’s how I would answer, until recently when I realized that I fail all the time. The other day I burned the eggplant into little charred bricks. I frequently forget names—even immediately after hearing them. I’ve started several projects that are now pushed back into corners away from my conscious awareness. I regularly send emails—including these—with typos.
And the fact is I’ve survived these failures without much trouble or hesitation in trying again. But there is something that does hold me back—it’s the fear of looking foolish. Somewhere along the way, I—and maybe you too—absorbed the unspoken rule: never be seen being bad at something.
I hate to think about how many opportunities I’ve missed because I didn’t want to take that risk.
You can relate if you’ve always wanted to take a dance class but were worried that you’d be the least coordinated person in the room. Or maybe you’ve considered taking up painting but imagine that people will negatively judge your efforts. Or you could have tried learning a new language in anticipation of a trip abroad, but once you arrived you felt too self-conscious about making mistakes to say anything.
As an adult, you might find yourself expecting immediate competence. If this kind of success doesn't seem likely, you’re very likely to choose not to participate. By the way, your ego and your brain are extremely good at coming up with valid reasons for this. Unfortunately, this creates a strange trap—the very activities that would expand your capabilities require you to tolerate looking inexperienced.
Accept this: Capability is built almost entirely through periods of visible incompetence.
This also shows up with any form of exercise—beyond walking, which thankfully we learned before we ever became aware of looking foolish. A beginner entering a gym, dance class, or exercise studio often arrives carrying the same fear: everyone will notice how little she knows. And this sense of embarrassment affects more than just our performance. It threatens our identity. We want to see ourselves as competent adults—and we want other people to see us that way too. The irony is that most people are paying far less attention to us than we imagine. They're busy worrying about themselves.
If you watch people build strength as I do regularly, you've seen this firsthand. Nobody is born knowing how to lift weights, perform a deep squat, or hold their bodies in a plank. First you have to learn how to do movement patterns such as hip hinges, squats, pushes, pulls, and maintaining balance. Then, once a movement becomes easy and comfortable to do, you have to take it up a notch—so you’re right back into the awkward stage. Capability begins with awkwardness and responds to practice.
The same pattern shows up everywhere in life. The women who continue growing in midlife aren't necessarily the most talented or fearless. They're often the women who remain willing to be beginners. They're willing to pick up the weights, to ask questions, and to learn a new way of moving even if they currently feel wildly incapable of succeeding at it.
In other words, they've built a capability most adults never think to practice: the ability to be seen learning. I’m still working on this—here in (kinda) public! I understand that doing so isn’t a weakness. In fact it may be one of the most important capabilities we can build if we want our lives to keep expanding rather than shrinking.
If you’re ready to stop waiting until you feel confident, prepared, or “good at it”, start with the free 8-minute Wonderfulness Workout. It’s short, simple, and private enough that no one has to witness your first attempt.