I’m coming up on a birthday and I have decided to share an incredible secret with you.
Are you ready?
You don’t look ready.
You should be on the edge of your seat.
No, not like that.
Ugh, whatever.
Here it is:
I have no idea what I’m doing.
That’s it. That’s the secret.
For instance: I started a new job recently and in the six weeks I’ve been working there I have royally screwed up at least six things. That’s one thing per week. And we’re talking public screw ups, like sending an email to 7,000+ people that includes a dead link. (Those pesky colons in URLs, are they really necessary? Turns out the answer is yes. But should they be necessary? My vote is no.) The point is, I am not necessarily doing well at my new job.
In fact, in writing this blog every week I’m basically chronicling the dozens of ways in which I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I have good thoughts, and a few occasional moments of clarity that allow me to ask good questions. But the bottom line is I’m on here writing because I have no earthly idea what I’m doing as I try to live my life. I keep making mistakes, I keep learning more, and I keep changing. I get fancy new shoes, trip on them, fall flat on my face, lie there on the dirty ground for a while, and then stand up again and say, “Hmm. Maybe if I walk heel, toe, heel toe, I won’t fall?” And I try walking again.
And if that isn’t just the image of the human spirit, I don’t know what is. How crazy do you have to be to make a fool out of yourself for weeks and then continue to go back and do it again? And then have the freaking audacity to ask them to pay you for it??
But that’s how we are. We are walking mistakes. We are failures in process. We are lonely, confused, lost, and broken. And we don’t know what we’re doing.
But we are all that way. Every single one of us. From Harry Truman to Harrison Ford (I don’t have any idea why those were the first names to come to mind) not a human on this earth knows what they’re doing.
Isn’t that sort of comforting?
It means that we, as our own worst critics, can let go of knowing what we’re doing. We can see each failure and know that it’s just part of being human. You don’t have to expect perfection from yourself; in fact, expecting perfection is absurd. What you can expect is to make a mess. And then you can expect yourself to keep going.
For whatever reason, even though we all know we’re not perfect, it’s hard to remember. So as I turn 33, feel free to look at me, this living disaster, and remind yourself: “She has no idea what she’s doing.”
You’re welcome. It’s my birthday gift. To you.
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