Sometimes

Sometimes I feel scared to think.

I sit at my computer waiting. As if something is going to happen, and then I will know exactly what to write about.

It doesn’t usually seem to work.

What works is a stream of consciousness.

Opening the tap on my mind and letting all sorts of thoughts flow out. Eventually catching a good one, and exploring that further.

Sometimes I feel nervous about thinking.

I search for answers to questions, instead of coming up with my own solutions. I think of a question and wonder, “what does X think about this question?”

It’s like I’m trying to avoid the responsibility of forming an opinion.

Sometimes forming an opinion can be scary.

When you state an opinion, you are opening yourself up to the possibility that you are wrong. You are opening yourself up to judgement.

You are also opening yourself up to being correct, but that doesn’t jump to the front of your mind while you are pondering the risk.

Why does it feel so risky? 

Why does it feel so wrong, to risk being wrong?

It is a lesson we had to learn. You show up at school, and all of the sudden your value is going to be shown as a number on a piece of paper at the end of every project. And, at the end of a semester, those numbers are going to be frozen for the rest of time.

You show up at school, and all of the sudden your value as a person is going to be shown as a grade. A number on a piece of paper at the end of every project will tell you your value. And, at the end of a semester, those numbers are going to be frozen for the rest of time.

At home, I learned that I “was smart.” It was who I was. At school, I had to prove it. Being smart was less about trying hard and doing well, and more about looking like you aren’t trying at all and doing pretty well.

At school, I had to prove it. Being smart was less about trying hard and doing well, and more about looking like you aren’t trying at all and doing pretty well.

I learned that actively spending time learning had no bearing on being smart. Being smart was something that I was. Something that I had to protect.

So I protected it.

I only answered questions when I knew my answer was acceptable. I only answered questions I was unsure of if there was no way for me actually to avoid answering.

I avoided being wrong, year after year. Until the game was over. I spent so much time worrying about how I was perceived that I was utterly unprepared to deal with a world where what I produced was the thing that mattered.

I trained year after year in believing that others people’s view of me mattered. I practiced being risk averse. I got pretty good at it.

Now I’m unlearning it.

I’m trying to be terrible at risk aversion.

I want to state my opinions because I know that putting them out in the open is the only way they will be clarified.

Sometimes I forget to unpack my thoughts. I’m afraid to say what I think, so I lose the chance to clarify my thoughts. I lose the opportunity to learn.

The irrational thoughts stay in my head because I am scared about looking like I don’t have rational thoughts. Irrational fear of being seen as irrational is leading me to become less rational.

I fight against it; I slowly become more and more willing to take on bigger questions. I have my thoughts challenged, and can clarify what I think and become better at arguing for what I think.

Sometimes I stop thinking about being wrong. I get immersed in learning, and only care about knowing more.

Sometimes I even become intellectually fearless.