When you don't know what you don't know, it can actually be an advantage

The Nubble Light in my hometown of York, Maine. They say it’s the most photographed lighthouse in the world — but for the first twenty years of my life, it was the only lighthouse in the world. (Image by Marc Jasin)

I wasn’t allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons as a kid. (Yes, it killed my elementary school social life big time.) For some reason, we were only allowed a bit of Mr. Magoo before the TV was shut off and it was time for breakfast.

Mr. Magoo centers on the adventures of a hapless, legally blind retiree who has frequent brushes with death and disaster as a result of his inability to see — and his seeming unawareness that he can’t see. He bumbles through life oblivious to the danger he’s in and the degree to which other people are constantly rescuing him.

In a metaphorical sense, I can identify with Mr. Magoo. Growing up in a small town before the Internet (and without Saturday morning cartoons), there was a lot that I didn’t see. I wasn’t aware that kids had tutors and private instructors in order to reach world-class status in things like figure skating, acting, singing, and math; I didn’t realize that a person’s success in business, the arts, or athletics could be the result of a highly expensive and meticulously orchestrated program of development, advantageous parental connections and support, and the benefits of living in a city where high-level resources are readily available.

Instead, I would watch shows like The Mickey Mouse Club and think, “that could be me!” Haha! No, it couldn’t. But I was so far away from ever being able to be on a television show that I wasn’t bothered by that; the distance actually allowed me to retain my fantasy that it could happen.

After high school, I went to college in a place that was even more cold and remote than the town I grew up in. Eventually, as a young adult, I began to travel and see more of the world. But it wasn’t until I began teaching music lessons in a wealthy part of Atlanta, I realized how different my upbringing had been from that of the children and teenagers I was working with.

These kids, most of whom attended elite private schools, had every advantage. The weekly music lesson was just one activity in a suite of pursuits designed to develop their talent and aptitude and prepare them for entry to the very best colleges. They were savvy and well-traveled and knew exactly how to impress and ingratiate themselves with adults.

But despite these privileges, these kids were so aware of what was possible that they tended to see what they lacked instead of what they were capable of. They were hard on themselves and, in some cases, seemed to lack the basic joys of childhood. They shouldered their parents’ expectations dutifully but didn’t seem to feel their love. In some cases, anxiety made it extremely difficult for them to be successful as they moved toward adulthood.

By contrast, I blundered along like Mr. Magoo, blissfully oblivious to the obstacles in my path. I started businesses without considering the possibility of failure. I stepped onstage to sing songs I had written without thinking too much about “Who am I to do this?” or comparing myself to others. I moved to new cities to undertake adventures without questioning whether each decision was the right one that would set me up for success.

I’m not holding myself up as the most accomplished person in the world — I’m sure many parents would not want their kids to follow my path. But I feel good about what I’ve done and where I am, and I’ve learned that that’s relatively rare. These days, the Internet allows the next generation of kids to see what they are missing and what is possible regardless of the norms of their own community, and it doesn’t help them. They feel like there’s something wrong with them.

Within two seconds, you can find someone on YouTube who is way better than you’ll ever be at the thing you’re trying to do. You can find an online community where someone is telling you why the decision you’re thinking of making is a poor one and what to do instead — and someone else outlining the disadvantages of your plan B. It’s enough to paralyze you before you even start.

While I’m not saying that people should grow up as sheltered as I did, I have come to realize that my disadvantages presented their own kind of advantage. I didn’t know what I didn’t know — and so I didn’t worry about what could go wrong or whether I was good enough. I simply tried stuff. Some of it didn’t go anywhere — but some of it did.

So if there’s something you’d like to try, I invite you to ignore the Internet. Ignore all the people who are better — in fact, filter your inputs so that you don’t even see them until you’re ready to. Enjoy your own adventure without learning how it turned out for other people. You never know what might happen.