When Pablo Picasso was an old man, he was sitting in a cafe, scribbling on a napkin.
He didn’t know it, but a woman sitting near him was looking on in awe.
A couple of minutes later, Picasso finished his coffee, crumpled up the napkin, and was
about to throw it away. But the woman stopped him and said “Can
I have that napkin? I’ll pay you for it.” “Sure,” said Picasso. “That will be
twenty thousand dollars.” The woman was stunned. “What? It only took
you two minutes to draw that”. “No, ma’am,” Picasso replied. “It
took me over 60 years to draw this.” Picasso lived to be 91. When he passed away
in 1973, he had amassed a net worth of around $500 million, and his art had become famous
all over the world. His output was exceptionally prolific. The
total number of artworks he produced has been estimated at 50,000, comprising a large number
of paintings, drawings, sculptures, ceramics, prints, tapestries, and rugs.
By honing his craft for decades, Picasso eventually reached a point where he could charge twenty
thousand dollars for a two-minute napkin scribble. Or, at least, deliver a pretty damn cool one-liner
about it. Anyway, the takeaway here is that mastery
takes time. Therefore, we need to be consistent in our practice. And to do that we need to
be able to make mistakes without losing momentum or giving up.
To become really good at what you do, you have to be comfortable failing at it.
To become remarkable, you have to be willing to fail more than anyone else around you.
When you were a kid, you didn’t think twice about learning to walk.
It didn’t matter what the results happened to be in one single attempt; you just kept
on trying no matter what. You stood up, took a step, fell, hurt yourself,
maybe cried for a minute or two, and then tried again.
Giving up never crossed your mind. At no point did you stop and think “Man,
I suck at this. I guess walking isn’t for me.”
Clearly, avoiding failure is something we learn later in life.
Somewhere along the way, most of us become afraid to fail.
We learn that it’s embarrassing to fail and that others might hold it against us or
make fun of us for it. And when that happens, we tend to stick to
what we’re already good at. The problem with this, of course, is that
it severely limits us. As soon as we buy into the idea that failing
is something to be avoided, every unsuccessful attempt sends the signal that we should stop
trying. And while that reasoning keeps us feeling
safe, it also robs us of the opportunity to realize our highest potential.
Because the only way to become great at something is to be willing to fail at it. Over and over
again. Success demands failure. So, we need to take
action despite our fear of failure. How do we do that?
In Stoic philosophy, there is a concept known as “the sphere of choice.” This idea makes
a distinction between: “Internals” — things we can control.
For example, our character, values, and behavior. “Externals” — things we cannot control.
For example, the past, much of the natural world, and the thoughts and behavior of other
people. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus believed that
we should focus exclusively on the internals and let go of the externals.
Only when we stop worrying about what is outside our control and instead turn our attention
to what is within our control can we have peace of mind.
I’ve found the sphere of choice to be very effective for dealing with my fears of failure.
Pretty much every time I sit down and write, a series of fearful (and quite mean) thoughts
run through my head. Usually, they go something like this:
“Who do you think you are? Nobody is going to want to read this. Man, your writing is
dull. You don’t have anything to say, do you? Let’s throw this article in the trash
and go do something else.” In the past, these thoughts would often get
the best of me. But I have since learned that I am not my thoughts — I am the one
who hears them. And since that’s the case, my thoughts belong
in the category of external things. I can’t control what thoughts happen to pop into my
head at any given moment, and therefore I don’t worry about it.
My writing, on the other hand, belongs in the category of internal things. It’s completely
within my control. I can always decide to keep on typing. So, that’s what I do.
No matter what my brain is yelling at me, I just keep on typing away until I’ve met
my writing goal for the day. This is another part of writing that used
to be a big problem for me. If you’ve ever created something and put
it out for the world to see, I’m sure you can relate.
Getting good feedback feels quite nice. But getting bad feedback feels downright awful.
If you get 100 positive responses followed by one negative, it’s that last one that’s
going to stick in your mind. So, to get really great at what you do, you
simply cannot care what other people think about it.
Remember, the thoughts and behavior of others belong in the external category, and therefore
you need to treat them with a healthy dose of indifference.
You’ll never get the approval of everyone, so don’t waste your time trying.
From now on, whenever you’re experiencing a fear of failure, remember the sphere of
choice. If you find that your concern is about something
external, practice letting it go. Remember that it’s a waste of time to worry about
things you cannot control. If the object of your concern is internal,
use it as a trigger to take action. Stop thinking and start doing.
Be like a kid who’s learning to walk. Fail without concern about how it looks or what
other people think. Then do it again. And again. And again.
Measure your success not by your ability to avoid mistakes, but by your ability to show
up and do the work no matter what. Picasso was willing to create 50,000 artworks
to build his legacy. What are you willing to do?