It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again…who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.1
Theodore Roosevelt, Citizenship in a Republic, 1910
When it comes to stepping into the arena, I’m a coward. I don’t want to make mistakes in front of others or come up “short again and again.”
Speak in front of an audience? Call 911. Market my coaching and consulting services? Let’s go back to the locker room.
If I have to step into the arena, I want things to be perfect. For example, I spend hours writing a blog post. Then I put the draft into a folder where it sits for three weeks after which time I plow another four hours and three gallons of second-guessing into it. Then another week passes before I post.
I know that nothing we do is perfect. We’re imperfect beings. We’re always growing, changing, and aging. And we have character defects. Well, at least I have character defects.
So the self-imposed need to do things right in front of others is one excuse I have for avoiding the arena.
Another excuse is my fear of imagined critics. I’m afraid that people will toss insults or question my credibility. “Who does she think she is? What’s so unique about her? Does she really have anything to offer?”
Well, yes, I do. I have thirty-plus years experience helping others grow and develop in their professions. I have that many years in the non-profit (for impact) world. And then there are eight years working cross-culturally in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Three Truths
So how do I squelch the those bully fears? By remember three truths.
- Remember my purpose. When I’m tempted to turn and run, I remind myself of my purpose: To live a courageous life rooted in love, grace, and gratitude for others’ flourishing, the greater good, and God’s glory. The only way I know to live a courageous life is to do courage. That means doing what’s hard. It means putting my whole heart into whatever it is that needs doing, knowing that my worth does not depend on the outcome. When I remember my purpose, I can kick out the inner critic who’s been renting space in my head. Besides, that critic doesn’t care anything about a greater good or helping others to flourish.
- Listen to my cheerleaders. In her 2013 speech Why Your Critics Aren’t the Ones Who Count, Brené Brown reminds her audience to reserve seats in the arena for those who care and support you. If you’ve ever run or ridden in a race, you know the surge of confidence you get when bystanders cheer you on. My supporters are the ones who wipe the sweat and dirt from my face and give me a swig of Gatorade. They’re the ones who remind me, “You’ve got this!” and “You’re doing a great job!” They’re the ones who remind me, “So, what have you committed to doing this week?” And then they celebrate with me when I’ve met my goal.
- Do the next right thing. These wise words from 12-step guide most areas of my life. When overwhelm freezes me at the arena gate, “Do the next right thing” nudges me forward. “Do the next right thing” reminds me to focus on what’s right in front of me. “Do the next right thing” also reminds me to avoid the quicksand of overwhelm or inadequacy. Just post the blog entry. Just make the phone call. Just send the inquiry email. Take the next step and get closer to the arena.
I don’t know what keeps you out of the arena, but I bet you have a purpose and cheerleaders. I bet you know how to do the next right thing.
1I first came across this quotation in the Brené Brown’s introduction to her book, Dare to Lead. There she explains how Roosevelt’s words influenced the title of her book.