The lessons you've already learned

Happy now? (The Ladies’ Home Journal, 1948)

Years ago, I decided to make an album of original songs.

Because I wanted to be able to record at all hours of the day and night, for free, I chose to do virtually all of the performing, engineering, and mixing myself.

Hey, Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney did it — why not me? Ha.

The album was my very best work, though still very amateurish.

When the time came to make another album, I did the same thing again. I improved a lot in my engineering skills — one track even got a glowing review in Recording magazine — but the skill I really needed to improve was collaboration. Though I had held recording sessions with a couple of different musician friends, I wasn't able to put it all together the way I wanted to. I needed help and input in order to realize my vision, and I didn't know how to get it. The end result was an album that sounded decent but wasn't really the album I had dreamed of making.

I was so focused on proving myself and remaining independent that I didn't see that independence was a lesson I had already learned. My independence needed to be tempered by a willingness to seek guidance and support.

I have observed that I'm not the only one who overvalues independence at the expense of meaningful growth. Likewise, some of us prioritize a strong work ethic when we actually need to learn to relax, or focus on spontaneity and thinking on our feet when we would benefit most from a practice of planning. We keep leaning into the lessons we've already learned instead of challenging ourselves to learn new lessons that allow us to develop other areas of competence.

How do we see where these gaps are and correct them? Well, naturally, the coach will suggest engaging a coach. But simply being aware of this tendency to repeat the lessons we've already learned can help us to stop doing it.

For instance, I have often had the instinct to make the best of things. It's my bed, so I have to lie in it. This skill was honed during my college years, when I went to a university I hadn't wanted to attend and worked at a succession of minimum-wage jobs despite being capable of more. It simply didn't occur to me that I could seek other opportunities, so I resigned myself to what I had.

In my twenties, I had far more choices, but I still practiced the lessons of self-denial and acceptance of hardship. This wasn't virtuous — it was foolish and short-sighted. I needed to engage my resourcefulness and ambition, not my capacity for suffering.

The skills and knowledge you've gained have helped you to get where you are. But if you don't like where you are, you'll need to build some new ones. Otherwise, it's like you're pouring water into a vessel that's full, or feeding additional inputs into a machine that's already at production capacity.

To get to the next level, you need a bigger vessel or a different machine. To put it in concrete terms, you can't just do the same thing you've always done, but more so — you need to do different things in order to get a different outcome.

For me, learning to collaborate has brought me more joy and satisfaction than my exaggerated independence ever did. The seeking of adventure, novelty, and more fulfilling work has yielded great satisfaction as well. Doubtless, there are still lessons I am ready to move on from that I haven't yet identified; hopefully, self-reflection and mentorship will continue to allow me to spot them and address them.

For you, are there any lessons that you are ready to let go of? Which habits and tendencies have so deeply saturated your psyche that they are no longer serving you? Where might balance be helpful?

The lessons you've already learned are valuable and precious, and you'll always have them. What's next, then?