The Uphill Battle of Trying Something New: The Reward of the Climb
Neuropsychologists say that our brains are stimulated by novelty and that learning new skills causes a release of dopamine, the pleasure-causing neurotransmitter. While this might be true for me when trying a new Savannah restaurant or learning the tango, it's not true for me when presented with a steep learning curve in areas I'm not inherently strong in or passionate about.
For example, new technology.
You see, I had a bright idea last year to start a podcast. I redecorated a beautiful space above my garage to be both a home office for Marigold Press Books and a studio for the new podcast-to-be. These first steps were very easy for me- the idea part and the decorating part. I love new ideas, like shiny glass objects held up to the light, they radiate hope and potential meaning and success that might include money raining down in heavy sheets. Also, I love decorating. I can Facebook Marketplace with the best of them. I painted, I purchased, I bought a butcher block top at Home Depot for my new desk and had Ian trim it with his fancy saw in the garage.
I was on a roll. While the dreams were strong and the funds were flowing, I also bought very expensive podcasting equipment- cameras, microphones, lighting- things I have no idea how to use. I must have assumed that a little producer would jump out of the box with the cameras, but what happened in real time was that I spent hours cursing, complaining, and quitting the podcast before it ever got started.
My friend, Carmen, yelled at me because I was sweating and swearing under the studio lights and she said I hadn't watched enough YouTube videos like she told me to. She was right. I thought I could figure it out. I had done about 40 test takes and pushed various buttons, convinced something would work.
In the middle of the learning curve, during the repeated failures, there was a part of my brain that was telling me to breathe, to calm down, to trust that this problem would be solved. But there was another, deeper part of me that was asking, “Am I even supposed to be doing this? Is this podcast thing just a dumb idea?” And then this one: “Is this resistance because I'm actually doing something important?”
I needed a life coach. I needed a mystic. I needed a larger glass for my Chardonnay.
Have you ever set out to do something new and you were bombarded with unforeseen problems, self-doubt, what-the-hell-am-I-even-doings, and a deep longing to do an about-face and forget the whole effing thing?
That was me the last two weeks. I alternated between beating myself up for not hiring a producer, going back into YouTube to find someone I didn't want to throat punch, and taking a lot of cleansing breaths. Sometimes I shut the door and walked away from the problems to rest and recover and try again the next day.
I'm happy to say that I haven't quit…yet. I finally got a trailer done after reading the script 10,000 times. I recorded a first episode. I have a list of future guests. It may be really important- or it may be a dumb idea; the jury is still out. But I'm pushing through until I have more information and maybe a little more understanding as to why I felt the need to do this thing in the first place.
Maybe it will be earth-shattering. Maybe it will be fun. Maybe I'll meet some cool people.
I won't find out unless I ignore the failures, the fears and the unknowns. Unless I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Unless I trust that this will be a worthwhile effort with no evidence to prove it at the moment.
I think this is called faith. Believing something good will be produced out of your effort despite appearances.
If any of this relates, I can't resist asking the question: What project do you have sitting on the backburner because you've tried and not been able to get past the problems or the fears or the uncertainty? Consider the possibility that something wonderful is waiting on the other side of one decision- to pick it back up and try again. I hope you will. I pray you will. I am cheering you on!
Also, I hope you'll check out my new podcast, Rewriting Midlife, and notice that I still need acoustic foam and more curtains in the room. I need more camera angles. I need better clothing. But I'm moving forward and I hope you'll cheer me on in the trying.
Cheers to small beginnings!
