Begin Again

What do you think can shift if, instead of feeling like you are on a high-speed train of new world events happening to you, you could take the reins and harness the goodness of novelty for your own well-being?

I recently read an article in Psychology Today about just that.

“Psychology and neuroscience both make it clear that novel experiences help us to stay sharp, adapt to change, manage stress, connect with others — the list goes on. The human brain is a dynamic, powerful organ, primed to respond to novelty.”

 

I think there is an important calling here when we live in what seems to be increasingly unprecedented times. The thought would be to shelter in place, to remain grounded — fair and valid to a point. But removing self-selected novelty from our lives robs us of neuroplasticity, purpose, and even the relief from boredom. So what are some ways that we can shift from change happening to us to engaging in change in a meaningful way?

Here are three points I took away from the Psychology Today contributors:

 

1. Be proud to be a beginner

When starting something new, own it. There’s a natural tendency to want to be unnoticed (even invisible) when working through something new, but this is counterproductive to both growth and the energy that comes from connecting with others over shared novelty. Think about it: being a beginner is such an easy opening for connection. A shared interest gives you common ground, people love to feel heard and included, and it’s a low-stakes place to practice vulnerability. Beyond that, struggling through the early stages of learning in isolation makes it far more likely you’ll abandon the pursuit well before the real rewards of new learning set in.

When I was traveling for work, one of my favorite ways to introduce myself was, “Hey, I’m new to the city, what should I be checking out?” It almost always sparked an engaging conversation; honestly, it worked nine times out of ten. But it required being proud of being new in order to let someone guide me. What it signaled to others was a willingness to be open and vulnerable about my lack of knowledge, and that in itself created an environment where vulnerability felt okay or better yet, something to be proud of.

 

2. Limit low-quality learning

I really liked this point from the article. It called out most of our tendencies to think, “Oh, if I just watch a short video, I should be able to learn it perfectly.” This robs us of the richness of finding passion, getting into it, celebrating our newbie gains, and being able to hardwire the learning into our brains. You can’t learn how to ride a motorcycle without getting on a bike. You just can’t. You are required to experience the falls, the mishaps, and the achievements in order to make the pursuit a success.

I think about how each Saturday night in the summers, there is a whole group of motorcycle newbies that show up to a local empty parking lot by my house — my three-year-old loves to go watch. What strikes me as so cool about it is that these people are practicing sharp turns and navigating their huge Harleys in real time, with other people watching, physically participating in the act of learning. I would bet a lot of money that in those moments, the riders are strictly thinking about this newfound passion and not letting their minds wander to something trivial. That has to be such a satisfying feeling once they are done. Yes, they fall — and those huge bikes fall over too — but they get right back up and try again. This is not low-quality learning.

So when trying out something new, the way that you learn it matters. Are you even allowing yourself to go all in, or are you watching a video or two, giving it a C+ effort, then moving on thinking that you failed? 

 

3. Lower the stakes

The fun of learning something new will wear off quickly if you are too hard on yourself. In the medical and educational community, there is something called the “just right challenge” — that is where you find yourself in a place where you must remain engaged to master the skill, however the difficulty level is not so much that you don’t have the foundational skills to get there. If you are able to be honest with yourself, and you are proud of being a newbie, then you can find the just right challenge as a starting point. If your floor is “I know nothing” — great! That is where you begin. But don’t go into novel tasks 1. expecting yourself to be an expert, and 2. expecting that you are going to get it immediately. Going into novelty with an experimenter’s mindset can be helpful. You can recognize that you are curious (this helps you to stay engaged) but that you are no expert (i.e. you are willing to learn through “failed experiments”).

Desensitize yourself from the end result. Think more about the process and what it is giving you. Losing yourself in a task often happens when you are in novel situations. This mental flexibility also seeps into other aspects of your life, allowing you to be more flexible, resilient, and mentally agile. When you lower the stakes, focus on the process more than the result, you are ultimately giving yourself the benefits of the full learner’s journey. 

The best way to end is what I first read from the article: “Feeling depressed, anxious, or bored? Looking for new friends? Coping with loss, healing from a breakup or searching for your life’s purpose? Look for solutions to these disparate problems and you’re likely to see one suggestion appear again and again: Try something new.”

 

THE CONTENT OF THIS BLOG IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY. IT IS NOT A SUBSTITUTE FOR A THERAPEUTIC RELATIONSHIP.

A Tiny Experiment

I’m starting a tiny experiment.

The idea came to me through a book recommendation shared by a friend in my women’s business group. The book is called Tiny Experiments: How to Live Freely in a Goal-Obsessed World. The premise immediately caught my attention, mostly because it challenges something we’re so deeply conditioned to believe.

We live in a world that loves goals. SMART goals. Measurable goals. Stretch goals. We’re taught to decide exactly what we want, map out the steps, and push until we get there. And if we don’t? We tend to blame ourselves. We didn’t want it badly enough. We didn’t try hard enough. We failed.

I’ve lived this way for years. And to be fair, there is an upside. Setting goals this way has forced me to confront my relationship with failure. It’s helped me toughen up, learn resilience, and understand that not everything works out the way I plan it. You don’t “succeed” at everything — and learning how to recover from that does matter.

But this book flips the idea of success entirely on its head. This book focuses on the process, the how, and not just the outcome. I have found in myself how dangerous being only achievement-focused can become. We tend to overidentify with achievement instead of our values and authenticity, and when we hit the mark, we often don’t feel fulfilled in the way we thought we would. And the goal post continues to move. 

Instead of defining success as achieving the outcome you set out to reach, Tiny Experiments defines success as learning something new.

That stopped me in my tracks.

What if success isn’t about hitting the mark, but about noticing what happens when you try? What if curiosity replaces shame? What if forward motion matters more than precision?

 

So here’s my tiny experiment:

I’m committing to writing about something that inspires me — formally — at least once a week. Maybe more. But I’m trying to take my own advice here and start small. And per author Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s process, I’m going to 1) set a doable duration of one month, then 2) check back in to assess how I felt during the experiment, and 3) decide if I want to continue, adjust or stop.

And I’m taking you along with me.

Today, I’m inspired by the concept of tiny experiments themselves.

In an age of constant busyness — and increasingly, AI — I want to make sure I’m still exercising my own mind in ways that feel meaningful to me. Writing has always been a place where I process, connect dots, and find presence and peace. This feels like a way to stay awake to my own inner life.

My hope is that these small sparks of inspiration might spark something in you, too.

Some of what inspires me that you might see coming down the pike:

  • Books — I’ve fallen back in love with reading over the last year, and I’d forgotten how much peace and presence it brings me. And concepts like this expand my mind.
  • My clients — always with privacy and ethics intact — but inspired daily by the courage, honesty, and growth I get to witness.
  • My kids — who constantly give me a beginner’s mindset and remind me of what’s important.
  • People doing good in the world — often quietly, often imperfectly, often without applause.

That said, I’m open to where this takes me, and excited to see where I may become inspired. This isn’t about perfection. It’s not about consistency for consistency’s sake. It’s not about building a brand or proving anything.

It’s just a tiny experiment.

And if all I learn is something new along the way? Then, by this definition, it’s already a success.

 

P.S. if you are interested in the concept, but don’t have time to read the book, check out this podcast episode where Le Cunff explains the idea of Tiny Experiments. 

 

THE CONTENT OF THIS BLOG IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY. IT IS NOT A SUBSTITUTE FOR A THERAPEUTIC RELATIONSHIP.