How To Get Better When You’re Terrible At What You Do
There’s that age-old saying “practice makes perfect”, but sometimes that isn’t enough. So what do you do when the hard work isn’t getting you anywhere?
When I decided to write this, I knew there would be lots of answers from people living on a high right now, giving their well-meaning two-cents worth. However this piece is not for them. This piece is for the ones struggling to see the light right now. The ones who feel helpless and have maybe exhausted all their options. The ones who feel so stuck there seems to be high forbidding walls at every turn. This piece is for the ones failing at the things they love, the things they’re trying so hard at. This piece is for me. For my hurt ego for not living up to expectations. Expectations of my team, expectations of myself, of my students. This piece is for that little part in me that still hopes that maybe there’s a chance.
It’s never a nice feeling being told you’re not good. But the reality is that at some point, the facts will all line up and smack you in the face with a harsh blow. The numbers so loud and clear it’s impossible to believe otherwise. Where do you even go from here?
Lose yourself
Maybe the first step is to be lost. Get lost. Feel lost. Feel so lost you can’t find your way out. Because only when you’ve acknowledged how lost you are, can you actually be found. So let every emotion, every belief you’ve had of yourself be thrown out the window. Maybe it’s about accepting that you’ve screwed up. That you’re not all you’re cut out to be. You’re an empty shell now. Let that emptiness match the void you’re feeling inside. Allow yourself to give up. Give up in a “I’ve tried and that did not work” way. Then, make peace with that.
Daydream a little
Dare to dream again. The idle, empty mind is the best playground for dreams, which makes you the perfect candidate to dream freely. The best part — there’s no right or wrong way to dream. So fill it up, let it grow into a life of its own. No one can fault a dream. No statistic can shoot a dream down. Let your dream be what dreams should be. Courageous, bold, daring and grand, nothing short of that. Let it feel exciting, fuzzy. Let it give you butterflies and peace at the same time. That’s when you know you’ve got a dream.
The truth is, this is the hard part. How do you dare to dream when you’ve failed at the one dream you had? How do you dream boldly again? I feel like I’m in the middle of this process right now. And my dreams feel so meek and insecure — a direct reflection of what I’m feeling on the inside. I never realised it took confidence, self-assurance to dream. And when that part gets all rattled up, it almost feels torturous to look for hope.
Even this piece that I’m writing, I can tell it’s a little shaky. A little unsure. So unlike the other pieces I write. When I write, it always feels soothing, it feels right. My confidence soars when I pair words with words and it evokes an emotion. But I’ve also realised that when I write, I’m usually writing for someone else. I write for brands. I write for thought-leaders. I’m good at writing in someone else’s voice. I’m good at observing, listening and understanding their thought processes that when I write for them, their voice is so clear in my head. But then again that was what my public relations background trained me for.
Now when I write for myself, in my voice, I find myself going back and forth with who I think I am, who I want to be, and who I was before. And that’s the problem. I can’t write for all these perceived notions of me. That “fake it till you make it” ideology never sat well with me because it confuses who I am at the core. I start projecting this persona of me that I don’t even know well yet. And it ends up being a jumbled up image.
When I write, I need to write from me. The person I am in this exact moment. Even if it’s not the most ideal version of myself. Maybe that’s where the magic lies. In allowing the vulnerability to be seen as brightly as the confidence and successes.
It’s something I need to carry through when I teach. I hide behind my technical knowledge, my creativity in sequencing yoga poses together for classes. I focus on delivering these parts so well, that no one really has the time or need to know the person behind these classes, even myself. But humans crave connection. And at the end of the day, even the best technical classes will never be as sought after or remembered as the classes where the teacher made you feel like an actual breathing, living person, not just a student. All this while, I’ve convinced myself that I’ve built connection when I throw in a remark that gets laughter or response and to me that’s enough. Or at least it was enough. I thought I was being warm and friendly and encouraging.
I’m beginning to realise it isn’t enough. It’s something I’m still figuring out — is being warm, friendly and encouraging not enough on its own? There are those people that when you look at them, you immediately know how to describe them. Then there are those who finding even one word to describe them feels befuddling. That’s how I feel when I try to describe myself. What if my personality isn’t substantial enough? Those closest to me say I’m kind, genuine and reassuring. All those things I thought I gave in my teaching.
But maybe the bigger problem is I exude warmth when I’m feeling cold-hearted inside. I project friendliness when all I want is to be alone, and I throw out encouraging affirmations that disguise how small I really feel. Maybe that’s where the disconnect lies. Unfortunately, yoga is the one practice that reflects and magnifies everything you’re feeling — the good shines bright, the bad, blindingly so. One of my core attributes is that I’m genuine. It makes me more me. The more authentic I am, the more real I feel. So if I’m hiding my real feelings in that moment to serve the notion of what people expect of me, is that authentic or is that professional? I obviously still don’t know.
Find a way to be unquestionably true to yourself
Perhaps that’s where the next phase of growth lies. To be bold in my vulnerabilities. Be compassionate about my fears and insecurities, not ashamed. Not something to be shy of. Let this growth, more importantly, this process of growth, with all its trials and errors be seen. Connection is when you get to be part of someone’s growth, not just the end result.
Maybe that’s the missing puzzle. I still have a lot of work to do. I still feel overwhelmed on how to begin. But I know that this next chapter is going to be messy. It’ll look like scribbles and words striked through and rewritten countless times. Torn papers, restarting paragraphs all over. But there will be a new chapter, and hopefully it will be a smoother and lighter read.
To be continued.
