The Myth Of "Making a Mistake"

What is a "mistake" really? I think one of the biggest misconceptions is the continuing belief systems that have been built around the idea of “mistakes.”

The word serendipity is a great example of how what is viewed as a mistake can be an amazing discovery in disguise. Serendipity is defined as: ”The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.”

Having been raised in a very polarized environment, I found out first hand that the idea of perfection, the notion that you must never make a “mistake,” can be crippling. It took me a long time to see the fallacy of this and I still find that I can fall back into an extreme black and white outlook on things until I realize what is occurring.

I was trained from a very early age to believe that you would literally ruin your life if you made even one “mistake” as defined by the leader of the cult I grew up in. The heavy weight of these judgments laid on the shoulders of a child was a crushing burden, begetting a very distorted outlook on life. I give the following example from my childhood because it is so painfully obvious how ludicrous this take on “mistakes” is, and it illuminates how damaging interpreting events as “mistakes” instead of a learning process in life can be.

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EXCERPT From "Firewalker:" Shattered Dreams:

A shower of apple blossom petals clung to the long wooden boat on the ground in the courtyard. This boat remained one of many, in a stale row of dreams aborted by Pavel in peaks of rage. It served as a painful reminder, along with the broken down school bus and the small island he had purchased with the followers scrimped-up savings. We were supposed to move to that beautiful island on the clear fresh water lake and build a round tower schoolhouse. I had been to the island once. I remember it was shaped in a figure eight. The warm water and big white rocks invited you to land on the shore. Nut trees lined the bank, and the forest looked different from the one around our home.

After that visit Pavel purchased the island and the boat. We cut down and trimmed out a dozen sturdy cedar trees, to start building our dream house.

He came up with wonderful ideas, and everyone worked hard to make them reality. We put our hearts into the projects, especially the last one, the puppet theatre. This time, I promised myself it would be different, this time I would be good enough and work hard enough, making sure never to make a mistake. I spent days designing and building little puppets. A couple of the women even took a vocational school class in town. They came back and put on a production with slides and their newly mastered puppets: “Tristan and Isolde,” the original story of Romeo and Juliet.

Pavel spoke eloquently about the life we would have, him at the forefront, as a troupe of puppeteers. Traveling to Mexico in our school bus, presenting shows for children, we’d make the world happy. We’d become rich and famous. I imagined having lots of friends, if only we worked hard enough, made no mistakes and did his bidding well enough.

I sat on the couch drawing plans for puppets, imagining the trip to Mexico. Pavel came out of his room. I could see a cloud over his head before he spoke. His voice reflected disgust as he called a meeting and addressed the group.

“This is no good, none of it. You do not deserve a puppet theatre. How can we free the world when you are so corrupted? It was a mistake to rely on you! All our dreams are lost. Why don’t you listen to me? That is it. It is all off. I can’t even look at you!”

The inevitable pattern had re-emerged. I could not fathom what had happened. A dark resignation filled the room, not a word spoken in protest. No one thing ever seemed to be the cause. The words stung my mind like a hive of bees. Now it would not work and we were at fault. Everything ground to a halt. Dreams lay broken at our feet. What had I done wrong this time? If I had just worked harder, this might not have happened. Yet it happened many times over the years. Pavel proclaimed our unworthiness over even the smallest “mistake” and refused to speak to us for weeks at a stretch. The group bowed their heads and suffered in silence, bearing the horrible burden of guilt without question. It hit the children the hardest; all the things we wanted hinged on the fruition of these dreams.

We wanted friends, a different life, and money so we would not go hungry or cold, perhaps even afford new clothes. Every time, with fresh hope, we came so close to a dream I could almost touch it, only to have it yanked away. The pain of never really knowing why became maddening. I never understood, never knew what made him say and do things. In my heart of hearts I believed it must be because I was not good enough, not ever good enough, and if I could only be perfect, not ever make any mistakes, then things might be different. The sadness overwhelmed me...

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The point? If we change our view of of what defines a “mistake,” we ultimately change the outcome of the events we put into action as we will see opportunities and meaning which we were blinded to before. so the next time someone tells you that you made a mistake, think twice before accepting that "reality."

After all, their "mistake" may be your amazing discovery.