Why I’m Recommending Embracing Your Learning Disasters
Last Tuesday, I tried to make sourdough bread and ended up with what can only be described as a pancake-shaped door stop. The starter had been babied for weeks, fed like a cherished pet, and talked to with the reverence usually reserved for newborns. Yet somehow, between the folding and the proofing and the mysterious alchemy that turns flour into food, I created something that could probably stop a bullet.
This got me thinking about how we talk about learning new things. Everyone shares their successes, their perfectly risen loaves and their marathon finish times and their language apps with 500-day streaks. But nobody talks about the beautiful disasters, the spectacular failures that teach you more than any YouTube tutorial ever could. So here’s my unsolicited recommendation: start collecting your learning failures like vintage postcards. They’re infinitely more interesting than your wins.
This is specifically for people who find themselves paralyzed by the gap between where they are and where they think they should be. If you’ve ever started something new and immediately felt like you were supposed to be good at it, this is for you. If you’ve quit hobbies because you weren’t progressing fast enough, or if you’ve ever felt embarrassed by your beginner status, you need to hear this.
The Poetry of Bad Guitar Playing
I’ve been learning guitar for exactly four months, and I sound like someone trying to strangle a cat while simultaneously solving a math problem. My fingertips have developed what I can only call decorative calluses, and my muscle memory seems to have been installed by someone who’s never seen a guitar before. When I attempt to play “Wonderwall,” actual walls wonder what they did to deserve this treatment.
But here’s what I’ve learned from being aggressively mediocre at guitar: there’s something pure about sucking at something with complete commitment. No one expects anything from you when you’re bad. There’s no pressure to perform or impress. You can focus entirely on the weird satisfaction of making slightly better noise than you did yesterday.
The real revelation came when I stopped trying to hide my terrible playing and started sharing short videos with friends. Turns out, people love watching someone fail enthusiastically. It’s permission for them to be bad at things too. My friend Sarah started sending me videos of her own musical disasters on the ukulele, and now we have an ongoing competition to see who can butcher classic songs more creatively.
Meditation for People Who Can’t Sit Still
Everyone told me meditation would change my life, so I downloaded every app, bought cushions, and committed to becoming one of those serene people who radiates inner peace. Three weeks in, I was having arguments with my own breathing and getting competitive about mindfulness. I once got so frustrated during a body scan that I started mentally rearranging my living room furniture.
My meditation practice, if you can call it that, looks nothing like the Instagram version. I fidget. I peek at the timer. Sometimes I fall asleep sitting up and wake up convinced I’ve achieved enlightenment, only to realize I’ve just drooled on my shirt. I’ve learned to meditate like someone who fundamentally misunderstands the assignment, and somehow that’s working better than trying to be perfect at it.
The breakthrough came when I stopped trying to empty my mind and started getting curious about how chaotic it actually is. Turns out, watching your thoughts bounce around like a pinball is its own form of meditation. I’m recommending this approach to anyone who’s been told they’re “not good at meditation.” You don’t need to be good at it. You just need to show up and witness the beautiful mess of your own consciousness.
The Joy of Terrible Cooking Experiments
My kitchen has become a laboratory for culinary disasters. Last month, I tried to make kimchi and accidentally created what I can only describe as spicy sadness in a jar. The week before that, I attempted pasta from scratch and ended up with what looked like abstract art made from flour and regret. My sourdough failure was just the latest in a long line of ambitious attempts that ended in ordering pizza.
But here’s the thing about cooking badly: it’s taught me more about flavors and techniques than any cookbook ever could. When you mess up a recipe spectacularly, you learn exactly what each ingredient does. You understand why timing matters. You develop an intuition for when something’s going wrong that no amount of following directions can teach you.
My terrible cooking experiments have become dinner party entertainment. Friends now come over specifically to see what kitchen disaster I’ll create next. We order backup food and make an event out of tasting whatever I’ve accidentally invented. Some of my best evenings have been built around my worst cooking. There’s something deeply bonding about laughing at a shared disaster while eating pizza off paper plates.
Running Like Someone Who’s Never Seen It Done Before
I started running six months ago with the confidence of someone who had successfully walked for over thirty years. How hard could it be? Turns out, very. My form apparently defies several laws of physics, and my breathing technique sounds like a broken accordion having an existential crisis. I’ve been passed by elderly power walkers and lapped by dogs who seemed genuinely concerned about my wellbeing.
What I’ve discovered about running badly is that it’s incredibly humbling in the best possible way. There’s no hiding behind talent or natural ability. Every step is earned through showing up and moving forward, even when you look like you’re fleeing from invisible bees. The community of bad runners is surprisingly welcoming. We nod at each other with the solidarity of people who understand that sometimes finishing is more important than form.
The weird thing about getting comfortable with being bad at things is that it makes you brave about trying new things. When you’ve already established yourself as someone who fails enthusiastically and publicly, there’s nothing left to lose. I’m currently eyeing a pottery class and considering learning to juggle, secure in the knowledge that I’ll be terrible at both and that’s exactly the point.
What are you learning badly these days? I’d love to hear about your spectacular failures and beautiful disasters. There’s something refreshing about swapping stories of ambitious attempts that went sideways. Drop me a line and tell me about the last thing you tried that humbled you completely.
