Month: May 2022

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Just “try your best”

I have to really stop myself from cringing whenever I hear myself saying this. There’s nothing wrong with this advice. Except the tremendous harm it can do. The fact is, we will keep on saying it to kids, to ourselves, to each other. Earnestly. Like we actually mean it.

What on earth does it mean – to “try my best?”

Let’s stop and think about this. Because it actually matters, when we are talking to a group of children, or any group of humans for that matter, what it is we are trying to communicate or direct them to do. “Trying your best” is, after all, a phrase that employs a superlative. Never a good idea. And there’s another phrase with a superlative. Okay, it’s sometimes not a good idea.

Every try costs. That’s why it’s a try, and not a do or do not, as Yoda has cautioned, so wisely. When we try, we are not sure of the outcome, and we are gambling, and we are paying for this up front with courage, and with uncertainty, and with the vulnerability that comes from an inability to do, rather than try. The try can get more expensive yet. We can try and fail, and we often do, if what we are trying is in the real world, where everything is much more difficult than in most video games. To try is to put oneself out there, in the land of vulnerability. I think that just trying is somewhat worthy of congratulations, without the need for us to go on and try “our best.”

Because, what on earth would constitute “my best?” When I try in one area, I am not at the same time trying in another. If I work on yoga, I am not cleaning my house. If I go to work, I am not at the same time looking after my kids (at least not directly). If I try to learn something, I am not at the same time able to carry out other tasks that I have already learned. While I am trying at one thing, I am not participating in others. And furthermore, sometimes that try means I have less time and energy to devote to other tasks which are waiting for me, and which are not negotiable, and which must be done no matter what the “try” took from me, emotionally, physically, mentally.

So if I try my best, does that mean that I keep trying until I master something, to the detriment of all the other parts of my day? Or does it mean that I must use every morsel of concentration and reserve energy while I am trying, even if that leaves nothing for the list of tasks I must still attend to? Does it mean that I must use willpower to cover off coordination deficits? Should I trade physical force for lack of emotional control? Or emotional manipulation for lack of mental ability? How far should I go to succeed in the “try” in order to truly be able to say, I did my best? How far should I travel into the “end justifies the means” territory in order to meet this rather impossible-to-measure demand?

Of course this is all ridiculous. Except…what do young people hear when we tell them to ignore pain, hunger, or other warning signals in their bodies in the interests of “health” or conditioning, or task completion, or sport? What do any of us hear when we have deadlines looming at work that suggest spending more time in the present would allow us to succeed, even when our families at home pay for this now and in so many future ways? What about sports competitions where not only participants, but even spectators or supportive parents feel able to engage in “trash talking” that would be acceptable nowhere else, in the service of encouraging a win? Why is it that the concept of trying seems to bring out such a snake-filled basket of pressure that is at once vague, a bit menacing, and yet crushing all at the same time?

In horse training there is a mantra that is worth applying here, which is to “reward the slightest try.” This is because horses generally try a lot, and try very hard, and try in all directions, depending on their temperament. What they want to know is, where is the peace? Where does pressure lessen? What can I do to get back to a state of security and confidence? Horses, being prey animals, do not want more stimulation. They generally like to feel like everything is proceeding as expected and nothing is going to eat them in the next moment.

We as humans are not always predators in our thinking either. Sometimes parts of our brain act as prey, and close up in fear, or lash out, or bolt from a terrifying situation that makes us feel like we are being hunted. In those situations, and even in more peaceful scenarios, trying is the thing that we do that adds to our uncertainty. Trying a little is quite brave. Trying a lot is more so. Trying our best is probably just unrealistic.

It’s funny that we often add “just” to this cheerful piece of advice. “Just” try your best, as if that wouldn’t take all your courage, all your internal resources, and every scrap of ingenuity you may have in scrounging others’ if you feel out of resources on your own. Just try your best, and you’ll be fine. We don’t really mean this. We mean, “just try a little bit, see how it goes, and figure out that you won’t fail as badly as you think, and that you can afford to pick yourself up, and try again, and guess what? It gets easier with every try!” That’s what we mean, but it’s too long of a sentence.

I guess I just want to say that trying is a miraculous thing for some people. It represents so much in the way of heart, hope, and faith. A small try is not really a small thing. The slightest try is, after all, a try. If we reward the slightest try, there is far more chance that someone (maybe even ourselves) will be willing to try again. Trying again is probably far more useful in the long run than trying my best.

I know we won’t stop saying this silly mantra to ourselves, and to each other. But let’s smile when we do. And if we can qualify it, let’s do that, too. I like to tell myself to NOT try my best, but instead go for 10%. 10% of what I think my best is, is far more realistic, and furthermore it leaves energy for dishes, and vacuuming.

And let’s eat when we’re hungry. Rest when we’re tired. Ask for help when we’re sick or in pain. Console ourselves a bit when we’re sad. Let’s not think that trying equals self-abuse. Let’s not model that to our kids, who get confused when we do.

Let’s try, slightly. And then do it again.

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Reducing the weight of possibility

Possibility is a very big attractant. I think we magnetically attach to it without even a thought. It’s like we’re a static cling magnet for little dust bunnies of opportunity. We pull them to us and there they are, following us wherever we go, almost impossible to get rid of. Where we go, so do our hopes, dreams, and potentialities. We want so much! For me, for you, for the world.

This is all very lovely, until the possibilities coating us start to take on actual weight. What if we invest in them, as if they were part of us? What if we take, for instance, what we hope will happen on that date with friends tonight, and load it up with detail, emotional investment, and even secondary goals that could become possible if…? We show up, and so does our idea of what is going to happen (but most definitely has not happened yet). It’s not real, because we imagined it, but it is starting to feel very real to us.

We do this so unconsciously, and so often, and so quickly, that we don’t realize how many feelings in our day have to do with completely made-up stories that we told ourselves, forgetting to put them into the future, and conditional, tense. When someone cuts us off in a line up, or in traffic, we are upset because we are already driving or living several minutes ahead of ourselves, and this event has created a small rift in our (not yet realized) timeline. We don’t like when things don’t go even a little bit as planned, and our instant rise in temper (which, hopefully, remains completely private and undetected by others), is evidence of how much we don’t like it.

It has been very helpful to me to try to recognize when I’m angry about something that has actually happened, vs something I wanted to happen, which isn’t going to, because of _______. The first scenario is objectively real and in the past and therefore can be dealt with. The second never happened, wasn’t real, and maybe was only even thought of by me. Totally subjective. Not very easy for anyone else to deal with, and really not fair to make a big issue of, by me, in the world out there, because it’s imaginary and exists in the fairy-tale place all imaginary outcomes exist within.

Imagination is really (we think) what sets us apart from most, if not all, other species. We can time travel. We can put ourselves into situations we are not actually in, and think about how it looks, feels, what would happen next, and costs/benefits of various choices of action in that scenario. We tell stories where we inhabit other people’s lives, settings, choices. We can go to the past or the future with equal ease. It’s a breathtaking ability.

Until it starts to mess with our reality.

That’s when imaginary outcomes – hopes, fantasies, ideals, potential effects of such and such a decision or action or cause – start to take on weight. They start to feel real and we start to treat them as if they are either actually happening, have happened, or will happen with certainty.

And this is where things get dangerous. We start to forget what we have told others. We start to assume that this object we are carrying has the same gravity for everyone as it does for us. We are treating an idea as if it is an event, objectively measurable and real. This is one way to “manifest” our dreams, for sure. But it can also put a terrible strain on those around us as they try to manage the weight of an invisible and un-feel-able (to them) factor in our decision making and our interactions.

I am thinking in particular of our children, surely the most vulnerable to our tendency to displace our hopes and dreams onto others. I spoke in my latest podcast about the concept of taking rocks out of our child’s backpack by selecting only one goal for them in any particular challenge. One goal is already quite heavy for some children. It’s heavy for us. Let’s not add rocks to their backpack by layering on three or four or six or eight more hopes, dreams, and plans for their day. Let’s look at our dreams, for sure. Let’s consider them as the beautiful, imaginary, fantastic stories that they are. Some, perhaps, will magically manifest into reality. But some cannot. And that’s okay. That’s not actually a loss if we don’t create a false sense of reality around them that gives us ownership of their lines and colours.

Also, and this is not nothing, let’s be careful as to who is putting a plan into whose backpack.

Really, each of us should carry our own load. We have our own potential, our own possibilities, our own “choose your own adventure.” That is a lot. Let’s let each child, each person, each someone we love and want the best for, figure out who and what and how their future will look. Let’s give them control of their own ideal outcome. Let’s suggest, envision, inspire, and encourage. And step back. And let others choose for themselves.

This is so hard! We all dream big and some of us can see so far into the future with our incredible imaginations! If only he would…if only they could…if only she saw…but that’s them. And you’re you. And I’m me. And we each have a lot to manage, what with the nature of time being so darn relentless.

So think of your goals as pretty rocks. They’re beautiful and precious, but awfully heavy. Don’t carry them with you all day. That’s too hard. Take one at a time, maybe. The one hard thing for the challenge before you. That’s probably going to make that challenge a lot more do-able. And for sure help kids take rocks out of their backpacks, rather than stuffing more in.

Possibility is amazing. Let’s not wreck it by taking its beauty as license to own it and carry it and hoard it and keep it. Let’s let it stay light and unattached to us, and yet…still possible.