One thing I’ve learned about myself over the last few years is that I learn most effectively by making mistakes. Once I make a mistake once, I tend not to make it again.

This is quite an effective means of learning, which is why the expression “learn from your mistakes” is a thing, presumably, but in my case I think it comes from the very real fear of being wrong, of doing something wrong, of being judged incompetent at something — even something I know deep down that I’m perfectly competent at.

Impostor syndrome is a very real thing, and I know quite a few people who suffer from it — including myself. It’s the constant and occasionally paralysing fear that you won’t be able to do something, or that you’ve found your way into a situation that you don’t “belong” in, and that you’ll be “found out” by someone at some point, then punished in some way for being somewhere you don’t “belong”.

I’ve felt impostor syndrome a whole lot over the years. I felt it in teaching, even though I regularly got positive feedback on my lessons — feeling like I didn’t “belong” wasn’t helped by the fact that I’m simply not an assertive enough person to control a room full of 30 teenagers, of course. I felt it in games journalism, where I always felt like I was enormously lucky to have the positions I did have — again, even when I received positive feedback on the efficiency, accuracy and engaging…ness of my work. And I’ve felt it in the retail positions I’ve held, being hesitant to perform certain duties for fear of doing them “wrong” and fucking things up for other people.

I think that latter point is the most important part for my brain: it’s not necessarily a fear of failure that gives me difficulty, but more a fear that I’ll do something wrong that affects someone else in a negative way, and that they will, consequently, be upset, annoyed or angry at me as a result. In my experience, it’s actually pretty rare for someone to get upset, annoyed or angry at me as the result of a mistake I’ve made — probably because most of the mistakes I’ve made over the years have actually been pretty minor and, for normal people, nothing to worry about whatsoever.

That’s the thing, though; part of this whole sense of anxiety is feeling like any mistake is the worst thing ever, and that it will be a permanent stain on your record for all eternity. You’ll always be “the guy who messed up that one time”. You only have one chance to prove yourself, and if you blow it, your days are numbered.

I know that these things aren’t true, of course, and becoming very much aware of the fact that I do clearly learn from making mistakes is making me feel a bit more positive about the whole thing. Most of the mistakes I make in my day-to-day life are as a result of not knowing something rather than any actual incompetence, and so it doesn’t serve any particularly useful purpose to dwell on them or feel bad: if they’re the result of not knowing something, then a good means of not making that mistake again (and, by extension, feeling bad about making a mistake) is to find out the thing I don’t know and remember it. And because there’s such a strong incentive at stake, I tend to really remember those things I learn in this way.

It may not be a particularly ideal way of doing things — in an ideal world, no-one would make any mistakes whatsoever and everything would be the very picture of perfection and efficiency — but it works for me. And besides, an ideal world sounds kinda boring, doesn’t it? Because there can be a funny side to mistakes, too, and the other thing I’m starting to realise and accept is that it’s all right to laugh at mistakes both you and others make — in fact, it’s important to, because laughter can help defuse negative feelings and show that really, in the grand scheme of things, the mistake itself doesn’t matter all that much to anyone involved.

Tomorrow I will probably make some more mistakes. Tomorrow I will probably learn some new things. By the end of tomorrow, perhaps I will be a slightly better person.