me too. I want to do it right the first time, or pretty close to right, pretty close to the first time. and it’s partially because I want to be good at things and have things turn out the way I want them to turn out. and partially it’s because I don’t want other people to see me trying. this is for several reasons. 

some people feel so much when they see you trying – the feelings exude off them. some people feel embarrassed on your behalf. they look away and think, “wow, I’m so glad that’s not me out there trying. I’d look like a fool for trying so hard.” those people have probably been shamed or made fun of at some point for trying, and so the pain of trying is too much, even when someone else is doing the trying. and even when they’re looking away, I feel like I can tell they’re trying not to look. 

some people feel angry at your trying. they think that in addition to being an embarrassment, you’re taking up perfectly good space that other people could be using to do the same thing, only better. those people are very hard on themselves, I’d say, and are locked in their own cages of judgment and regrets for trying and not trying. there’s maybe resentment there, as in, why do you get to try and I don’t? I can hear that voice sometimes, coming from the inside.

some people give lots of feedback – lots of “helpful” feedback. I especially don’t like those people. I understand the embarrassed and angry people, because in the past I’ve had those reactions when I’ve seen others trying, and I’ve been around those kinds of people the most growing up. however, the helpful feedback people are also difficult to be around. because there you are, just writing your poem or drawing your picture, dancing your dance or running your race or whatever it might be – happily in the moment, just doing, just trying. and someone sidles up and says, “you know, if you just blah blah blah blah blah.” to help. but you didn’t ask. because part of trying – at least for me and at least in the early stages – is the joy of something new and making mistakes and being okay with that. it’s part of the process to do it wrong and understand how it’s wrong and then adjust and improve. if we forced a flower open too soon or made a baby walk perfectly, no stumbles or falls along the way, then how would they know all the intermediate parts to blooming, to walking? 

and that’s when I feel afraid of trying. not because of the actual trying, or because of the process of failure and improvement. sometimes failure is so god-awful it’s sweet or silly, sometimes it’s so close to success it stings. but that’s okay. the fear comes from having to hide or protect my trying from others and their judgments and their offerings of help when I don’t want it. because I want to just try. 

so I say this to myself and maybe to you too:  step back and let someone try. and let your heart be open to witnessing the sweetness and silliness and sometimes sting of trying and failing. you won’t break if you see someone try and fail. and the person trying won’t either. 

there’s somewhere in here for the supporter, or the guide – not the “helper” – but another kind of person who assists the trying. but maybe that discussion is for another day. maybe tomorrow I’ll try to tell you about it.