Last weekend, I was at a café waiting for my order when something remarkable happened.
A barista called out to her coworker, “I’m doing really well today! I only made two mistakes!”
If you’re waiting for the remarkable bit, that was it. (If you’re a perfectionist currently swimming upstream through the relentless torrent of self-inflicted criticism, there’s a decent chance you already recognized it.)
The barista was beaming with pride. It was touching to behold. It was also, to my eyes, deeply confounding.
Only two mistakes.
I blinked, like I’d just witnessed a giraffe turn purple and tap dance out of the shop.
Never in my life have I uttered such a phrase, about any goof, gaffe, misstep, error, or perceived slip. Filtered through my internal monologue, the same sentiment would sound more like, “You fucked up. Twice.” Followed by some version of, “What is wrong with you? Such an embarrassment. Why try? Might as well quit.”
Is it mean? Yes. Defeatist? You bet. Fun to listen to? Not particularly. And while I’ve gotten much better at awareness and self-kindness, it persists.
I watched the barista, partly out of fear that my overpriced beverage might become mistake number three, but also because I wanted to learn her ways. How does one cultivate such an aura of acceptance? How does one find joy in the less-than-perfect learning process? Could I do it, too?
*
On a rational level, I understand and accept that to err is human. As Mister Rogers once told me, mistakes are inevitable, not to mention how we learn. (Per the episode summary, “Mister Rogers helps viewers know that people can make mistakes and still have people love them.” 🥺)
Granted, not all mistakes are created equal. One hopes their surgeon or pilot isn’t chuffed to average two snafus a day. But forging ahead despite failure is the plot line of many an inspirational tale, and blind determination is widely regarded as a favorable trait in the business world.
In my work as a celebrity ghostwriter, I can attest that the majority of the notable folks I’ve worked with have shared that mindset. No matter their field, they saw error, rejection, and criticism as a natural part of the process. Some even used it as fuel.
This approach is all part of a growth mindset — seeing mistakes and challenges as opportunities to learn and grow, not as a sign of failure. It’s admirable, not to mention aspirational. But for those of us who are conditioned to believe otherwise, adopting such beliefs is easier said than done.
Yet as the barista’s words replayed in my anxious mind, it took on a certain lightness.
What if to err is simply that — to err? Not an occasion to disprove one’s worth. Not necessarily a call to quit or change course or rethink one’s entire approach. Not a reason to spectacularly implode. Just part of being human.
*
I have a friend who is afraid — petrified, one might say — of making a mistake. I have witnessed them not apply for jobs, not further relationships, and not pursue interests, all out of the fear of “messing it up.” They play small, something I say without judgment, because I’ve done it, too.
From the outside, it is so clear how their fear of mistakes prevents them from fully living. But it can be so difficult when that fear is roaring within ourselves.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I ask.
“Rationally, nothing that bad. But I worry that I’ll be irreversibly embarrassed.”
“Is that actually so bad?”
“I guess not. If I think about it, the actual worst-case scenario is never doing anything, because I’m afraid I might mess something up.”
*
If mistakes are inevitable, it stands to reason that they are plentiful. And since they’re happening across every field and region and season of life, and we’re all encouraged to keep making them, it also stands to reason that sometimes, they might actually be good.
A cursory search reveals a slew of popular inventions and creations that were the product of mistakes — some happy accidents, some straight-up goofs that came with a silver lining.
Penicillin was unintentionally birthed when a rogue mold developed during a scientist’s vacation. Coca-Cola was invented by a pharmacist trying to create an effective, opiate-free painkiller. Smoke detectors were originally intended to detect poison gas, not smoke, while Post-it notes were created when a scientist tasked with formulating a strong adhesive made a weak one instead.
But my favorite story is the lore behind the potato chip (or the crisp, for my UK friends).
When a restaurant customer complained about soggy French fries, chef George Crum sliced up the thinnest version imaginable and fried them to a crisp. Voilá, one of the most popular snack foods in history. While some dispute this as the chip’s official invention (the incident transpired in 1853, while thinly fried potatoes were recorded in recipes since the early 1800s), the moral of the story still stands. Imagine if all our negative reviews (and the resulting responses) spawned the creation of such wonder.
Via Sliding Doors logic, every miss or misstep is part of a larger tapestry. Every fumble leads to some truth, luck, or knowledge we may not otherwise have. Through this lens, mistakes aren’t just inevitable, but necessary plot points in the story called life.
*
The barista didn’t only make two mistakes that day — she did a lot of things right, including serving up food for thought.
We can reward ourselves based on the outcome, or we can reward ourselves for trying.
If mistakes yield knowledge and experience and potato chips, maybe two in a day isn’t nearly enough. Maybe we should aim to make a mess of things, again and again. And marvel at what we can do.
I was beyond (pun intended) honored to contribute to the wonderful’s newsletter, Beyond, this week. I wrote about grief and writing…and writing about grief. It would mean so much if you gave it a read. ❤️
Card of the Week
Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.
A friend recently posed a question:
Is there such a thing as “settled?” And what does it feel like?
She was in the middle of a breakup. I was in the middle of moving. Another friend, also present, was contemplating a shift in her career.
We concluded that settled may exist in this world. But if it does, I don’t know it.
The feeling in question is another shape of the arrival fallacy, that pervasive myth that tells us once we do something, have something, or achieve something, everything will fall into place. If we could just win the lottery/get the promotion/meet that special someone/fill-in-the-blank, life will resemble the end of a Disney movie.
It’s that fabled moment where there is nothing left to strive for. Nothing pending, nothing missing, nothing to want or do or acquire. You can just kick back, relax, and bask in the figured-out-ness of it all.
But, of course, reality says otherwise. There will always be another puzzle to solve, another level to scale, another thing to desire.
If settled is the stuff of myth, that doesn’t stop me from chasing it. Inbox zero. A tidy home, everything in its place. Some arbitrary, faraway goal to make life complete.
Rarely do I reach such states. And if ever I do, they stay that way for approximately four seconds before reverting back to messy, lived-in chaos.
But there are glimpses. Moments. Flickers so fleeting you could almost miss them. The ironic thing is, they’re not rooted in perfection, but in presence. In recognizing what is.
The World marks the end of a cycle. But as it does, it reminds us that every ending is also a beginning. (And every beginning an end.)
All too often, we’re looking for a proper finish line, the conclusion wrapped in a neat bow. As the credits roll, we kick back and bask in the feeling of settledness.
But endings are another plot point.
And a finish line is also a starting line — marking the end of one cycle, and the beginning of another.
A new chapter. A new chance.
This week’s card comes bearing a message of arrival. We have arrived. Even if this isn’t the destination we originally had in mind. It asks us to mark the occasion, take in the scenery, and soak up the moment. And as we do, it asks us to consider: What goals have we been chasing? What stories have we been telling ourselves about how things may look on the other side?
The World says that arrival itself isn’t a myth. The way we paint it is.
One of the best parts of an arrival — or any conclusion, for that matter — isn’t that everything bursts into technicolor or screeches to a halt. It’s that another new beginning is just around the corner.
I love the baristas mindset so much, how inspiring. I sometimes think this way, but am more often plagued by the voice of "well you fucked that up didn't you." It's hard work being so hard on yourself, I'm going to try to be more like the barista this week, I think.
On another note, I hope your new home is still treating you well, and that you enjoyed your crisps (also, what flavour did you have? These details are important to me)
I recently got a sticker that says "Increasing My Failure Tolerance" and I am very excited about it, though it is also notable that I haven't found the perfect place to stick it yet.