(Or: how to survive the awkward phase without quitting)
There’s a very specific kind of discomfort that comes from trying something new.
It’s not pain exactly.
It’s not failure exactly.
It’s more like… exposed.
You’re aware. Of everything. Your posture. Your timing. Your breathing. The fact that everyone else seems to know what they’re doing. The fact that you absolutely do not.
And somewhere along the way, we decided this feeling means we should stop.
But what if it doesn’t?
What if being terrible at something—temporarily—is actually one of the most underrated joys of being human?
Remember Your First Workout?
Not your current routine. Not the confident version of you who now knows where everything is.
Your first one.
The one where you walked into the gym like you were entering a foreign country without speaking the language. Where every machine looked like it required a tutorial and possibly a helmet.
You stretched incorrectly. You pretended to understand what “engage your core” meant. You left slightly sore and deeply unsure.
And yet.
You survived.
And the second time felt a little less dramatic. The third time a little less foreign. Eventually, you became the person who knew where the cleaning wipes were.
That progression? That’s the magic.
The Pottery Class Phase
There’s nothing more humbling than trying to shape clay for the first time.
You sit down confidently. You center your hands. The instructor makes it look effortless.
And then your bowl becomes… abstract art.
Too thin. Too thick. Slightly collapsing. Possibly aggressive.
But somewhere in the wobble, something unexpected happens: you laugh.
Because it’s not that serious.
No one expected you to create a masterpiece in 45 minutes. The joy is in the attempt. In the spinning wheel. In the tiny improvement from “what is this?” to “okay, that’s technically a cup.”
The beginner phase is allowed to be goofy.
The Voice Memo Reality Check
Let’s talk about the universal experience of hearing your own voice on a recording.
You hit play.
You freeze.
You do not sound like the version of yourself that exists in your head.
It’s unsettling. Disorienting. Slightly offensive.
But then—if you keep recording—you start to adjust. You speak more clearly. You pace yourself better. You become comfortable with the sound of your own voice.
The thing that once made you cringe becomes neutral. Then familiar.
Then normal.
That’s growth. It just doesn’t feel glamorous while it’s happening.
Why We Resist Being Beginners
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we decided we should already be good at things.
Kids don’t think like that.
Kids fall constantly. They draw lopsided shapes and call them art. They sing loudly without checking if they’re in tune.
They expect to be beginners.
Adults, on the other hand, want proof of competence immediately. If we’re not naturally skilled, we assume it’s not for us.
But mastery isn’t instant. It’s accumulated.
And the beginner phase isn’t a flaw in the process—it is the process.
The Hidden Freedom of Being Bad
There’s something quietly liberating about knowing you’re not good yet.
No pressure to be impressive.
No expectations to maintain.
No reputation to protect.
You’re just learning.
You can experiment. You can mess up. You can ask obvious questions. You can look slightly confused without it being a crisis.
When you let yourself be a beginner on purpose, the experience gets lighter.
You stop performing. You start playing.
Improvement Is Sneaky
Here’s the part no one tells you: improvement happens slowly enough that you barely notice.
One day you’re awkward.
A few weeks later, you’re less awkward.
A few months later, you’re the one giving advice.
Not because you transformed overnight—but because you kept showing up.
Tiny adjustments compound.
What once felt impossible becomes manageable. What felt embarrassing becomes routine.
And suddenly, you miss being new at it.
There’s Joy in the Messy Middle
When you remove the expectation of instant excellence, something surprising happens:
You start enjoying the process.
The shaky hands.
The off-timing.
The “well, that didn’t go as planned.”
They become part of the story instead of obstacles in it.
You laugh more. You compare less. You focus on curiosity instead of performance.
And curiosity is a much better teacher than pressure.
Temporarily Is the Key Word
You’re not terrible forever.
You’re terrible temporarily.
That word matters.
It means this phase has an expiration date. It means progress is already happening, even if it feels microscopic. It means you don’t have to judge yourself for not being advanced at something you just started.
Temporary awkwardness is the entry fee for long-term skill.
A Small Challenge
What’s something you’ve avoided because you don’t want to be bad at it?
A hobby.
A class.
A creative project.
A fitness goal.
Speaking up.
What if you gave yourself permission to be terrible at it—for 30 days?
No performance review. No quitting after one uncomfortable attempt. Just showing up and collecting tiny improvements.
You might surprise yourself.
You’re Allowed to Be New
You’re allowed to:
- Ask beginner questions
- Make beginner mistakes
- Move at beginner speed
- Celebrate beginner wins
You don’t have to skip this stage to get to the good part.
This is the good part.
Because one day, you’ll look back and realize the awkward version of you was brave.
Brave enough to start.
Brave enough to be seen trying.
Brave enough to be terrible—temporarily.
And that’s not embarrassing.
That’s impressive.
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