9.30.25 // Novice

I’ve been trying to be a novice more.
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Actively seeking out that deeply uncomfortable space, where I’m questioning, “what the hell am I doing?” (either literally or metaphorically in the most positive way).
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For years, that space came naturally. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed a resistance creeping in. Resistance to being “new”… new to an activity or hobby, the new girl at a gathering, new to an industry that’s never been in my wheelhouse. Even new places can catch me off guard on the wrong days.
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But comfort in newness only comes from practice. From exercising the muscle that lets you not fully understand, not be great from the start, to stay vulnerable and keep putting forth the effort to learn, grow, and get better.
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And yet… it’s almost too cool to be seen trying these days. In a world of surveillance, where anyone can record or photograph you at any moment, that can feel paralyzing if you’ve let your “newness” muscle atrophy.
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So, what are you scared to try?
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Here’s the paradox of failure: if you avoid trying because you’re afraid to fail, you’re actually failing by default.
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Trying and failing is still forward motion. Failing and learning is how growth happens. Avoiding it altogether because you might not be great right away? That’s what keeps you stuck, and that novice muscle grows weaker.
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Don’t be afraid to be new. Don’t be afraid to be seen trying.
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And not just in the shiny, romanticized sense of beginnings, but in the long, awkward stretch that follows. The part where you stumble, where you fail harder than you expected, where you have to swallow your pride and begin again. Being new isn’t just about the first attempt… it’s about showing up for the second, the third, the fifteenth. It’s about holding steady through the falls and the quiet, frustrating plateaus that no one claps for.
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“Good enough” is a moving target anyway... and the only way to inch closer is by doing the thing, again and again, even when it feels clumsy, even when no one’s watching, even when you wish you were already further along.
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Sure, I don’t always want to be seen fumbling through the first steps, and I don’t always enjoy the sting of not knowing what I’m doing. But every time I let myself be new (awkward, unpolished, unsure), I gain something that can’t be taken away: a strength in resilience and perseverance. My muscle for the uncomfortable grows stronger, and my character begins to outweigh the fear of being seen in what someone else might call embarrassing.
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Because being new isn’t just about enduring the awkwardness, it’s about the promise of who you’re becoming.