If you're afraid of failing...

... you're afraid.

If you're afraid, then you're afraid. It doesn't actually matter what you are afraid of. The of is not the problem. The of has actually no value in this equation. Most of the time. If someone is pointing a gun at you, or shoving peanuts down your throat when you have a known allergy, these are reasons to be afraid. Fear has its survival purposes, granted. But for most of us, when we are afraid, we feel the same levels of fear as if we were being chased down by a cheetah, and we are actually just getting ready to go into a room where there is another human being who has a camera. Or into a door where we will hand a piece of paper to another person and ask them to give us work to do. Or to talk to another human being about something that most humans beings can understand. Or of being wrong. Or, MY LEAST FAVORITE, of thinking that another person is going to think something about you. Of looking silly. Of not being able to do what we set out to do.

Guess who can't do what they set out to do?

EVERYONE ON EARTH, the first time they try.

Guess who can't do what they set out to do?

Babies.

Babies try to walk. They can't. Stupid babies. They look so silly. They shouldn't ever try that again, I mean, people might laugh at them.

Guess who else can't do what they set out to do?

Scientists. They spend their entire careers asking How? Why? How? Why? And then, when a break-through occurs, when the heavens open and knowledge is poured fourth, they say, "Oh, I figured that out, but now I need to ask How? and Why? about the next thing." Oh, we sent something to space and it exploded? Wonder why, and how to fix it...

Guess who can't do what they set out to do?

EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER ACCOMPLISHED ANYTHING BEFORE THEY ACCOMPLISHED IT.

EVERYONE.

My dad used to point out when I would say, "This is easy," "That was easy." He would remind me that it was hard just moments before, before I knew how to do it, before I figured it out, it had been impossibly hard. In the "Strength Finder's" assessment, an awesome tool that breaks down 35 core human strengths that we all have, just in different orders, there is one called "Learner." When reading through some of the info, I thought I for sure had learner, because I always loved school and I always loved knowing stuff. But then I read that "Learner" is a strength of loving going through the process of not knowing something and journeying to knowing it. I quickly adjusted. I KNEW I didn't have that strength. Learning is NOT what I like. I like KNOWING. Learning, having to learn something, just points out your stupidity on the subject!!! The process of learning SUCKS! It makes you look stupid! You don't know stuff! I have a hard time not knowing stuff. I love knowledge. I love tidbits. I collect information like some people collect stamps. Collecting information to use later for some good purpose. What I actually have, the strength I thought this was, is called "Input."

My genius Uncle Bobby, and I mean genius, genius, helped tutor me for the SATs my junior year in high school. I wanted to go to a private University, and needed a high SAT score to get the best scholarship possible. I took a class in school. I had my genius uncle tutor me. Or rather, my dad had my genius uncle tutor me. I wouldn't have willingly entered into that chasm of not knowing if my dad hadn't pushed.

I adore this uncle. He is a fount of wisdom and knowledge. For someone who loves information, especially about historical moments and people, I wish I could just have Uncle Bobby walk around with me all the time. Remember when we didn't have google or iphones? Uncle Bobby was like that. And he was not just full of information, but he loved to share it, he loved to have conversations, loved to teach, and whether he loved it or not, he would tell us stories. Oh the stories.

We would beg, we would plead that as we, my cousins, his kids, and I would fall asleep in the bunk room of my grandparents house around Christmas time, that he would tell us stories. These were better than any choose your own adventure story, because he would play to his audience. His audience of us! And he knew us, so he would make sure to add in something for everyone. Whatever we had be discussing or dreaming about or learning about during the day, this was the fodder for the stories at night. They were adventure stories about us cousins, going off to the creek or into the wilderness and we would always be magically transported somewhere else. Maybe it was a "Lord of the Flies" action tale or maybe we'd somehow land in pre-revolutionary Russia where we'd reason with the crazies of the Island or the powers that be to spare us, each pacifying them in our own way with our clever abilities. My cousin David would reason with them with his physics knowledge, or run away using his baseball skills. My cousin Rachel would sassily fight back with her clarinet playing or command of the French language. I would generally summon my super nice, friendly and gregarious personality to get out of jams, or maybe some of my Jewish uncle's understanding of my Christian beliefs, or lots of times just ballet dancing, not because I could ballet dance, but because I wanted to be able to ballet dance. Just when everything was going to blow up and our danger was at its peek, we were magically and happily transported back, generally just time for to savor of of my grandma's delicacies, warm out of the oven. They were some of the best times of my childhood, these stories, and I had a pretty darn good one.

So it seems logical that this trusted, loving, supportive, favorite uncle of mine would be a helpful and safe tutor on those dang SATs. Math, of course, I could English my way out of any sticky situation, but the numbers, oh, the numbers.

We sat at a table away from the hubbub of up to 12 aunts and uncles and 13 cousins, and began. And I could feel it. In my belly. And itt isn't until this very minute that I know exactly what I felt. But I had felt it before and I would feel it again, and that feeling was Fear. Fear and shame for not knowing or not being able to know. Fear and judgment for not being able. Fear. And I held it in for as long as I could and I tried to reason and I tried, and I shattered. I burst into sobs. I, the jubulant, happy cousin, shook and my dad, my dad who is patient and amazing and not really a math wiz himself, but a genius of me took me away and we talked. Bobby was stunned and confused. Sad, maybe, worried about me. But it wasn't him. It was Fear. And he knew something, and my dad knew something, that I've learned and will continue to learn and choose to learn and choose to act in every day of my life for the rest of my life.

It's OK not to know something.

It's OK not to know.

It's OK to not know. There is no shame in not knowing.

The pride of being unwilling to try, the smug gangster outside that is so tough is just hiding the small child that is afraid to try, to fail, to look silly.

But that child needs to feel no shame. That child needs to not fear.

It's OK not to know.

Learn.

And when you have learned, and it's so easy, remember, it wasn't always so. There was a time that that thing you do without even thinking could have paralyzed you, chilled you to the bone. That person out there doing that thing you wish you could do, once, perhaps a long time ago, once, that person said, "I've never done that before. I think I'll try."

Oh, and remember the SATs? I sat back down with my uncle and looked over some more math before that Christmas break was over. And I bet he even told us another story.

I took them SATs. I took them twice. And guess what? I missed the scholarship mark twice, too. First by 80 points, then by 20 flippin' points. Didn't get that scholarship, didn't go to that school. But I am not ashamed of that. I tried, I tried my hardest. I did what I could do, and I'm not great at math, and didn't get that score. But I am proud of the 60 point difference that I did achieve. I did that.  No one else. Went to a state school, studied my passion, and have been doing it in LA for 9 years, and the last year was my most successful yet.

Might not have been enough to get me $$ at my "dream" school, but it was enough to set my life on course for the work and wonder I am blessed to experience everyday. Set me on course to know just a bit more about trying and failing and trying again. Set me on course to live the life that I couldn't have possibly dreamed of back then. Not even in one of Uncle Bobby's stories.