Door Theory

Dear Lea,

Hey. It’s me, your future self. You may not recognize me yet because you’re still young, but I am the whispering voice in your head, that gut “pull” you sometimes feel when you’re contemplating what to do next. I am always here with you, nudging you to do the thing that lights you up, telling you Yes, you can. Don’t think too hard. You don’t always listen to me, but I whisper anyway.

After almost six decades walking this planet, doing the things and making the mistakes and experiencing so many joys and heartbreaks, I see things differently. I have made it through so many challenges. Honestly, you’d be proud. I’ve learned to trust myself more. Listen to my intuition. I have a ton of gray hair (don’t worry, I’m still coloring it). My body bears the scars, aches and pains that come with middle age following an exuberant, athletic youth.

I also have some perspective to share. So buckle up, sister.

You are at a point in your life when you don’t know what you don’t know. Don’t take offense! It’s totally normal — you’re just not aware yet of how much there is for you to learn… and how much fun you will have doing it, diving into that learning full-heartedly. You’ve had some early successes that make you both wildly, youthfully confident, bursting with energy and possibility — and also completely terrified about forging your adult path. Making mistakes or life-changing choices that limit your future possibilities. Also normal and natural.

If life is a series of doors in front of you, you’re afraid of choosing the wrong one. And this paralyzes you.

But Lea, I have good news: You can’t make a mistake. There is no “wrong door.”

I believe that when you pick a door — literally, any door — the magic is that you will always be met with more doors. Infinite possibilities. With each new life experience (choosing a school, applying for a job, making a friend, finding a partner, going through a breakup, whatever) comes learning, self-knowledge, accumulated wisdom. I believe that even if that experience brought you pain, you also gained something in the process. Something you’ll keep with you and use in your next round.

So when you’re wrestling with what feels like a scary, life-altering decision, remember my Door Theory. Go ahead and walk through the next door without fear, my dear. You’re going to be just fine.

More advice for you

What you need to know in this moment is that you can trust yourself. Heck, you can believe in yourself, too, despite all the conflicting, misogynistic, soul-wounding messages the world might be pelting you with.

Messages that you’re just not good enough, that you’re undeserving of the beautiful life you desire. That you shouldn’t rock the boat. Don’t be too audacious. Don’t dare to be bold, or heaven forbid, to let anyone know you actually like or believe in yourself. Be sure to make everyone else nice and comfortable by playing small, hiding your brilliance, shrugging off compliments or admiration. Just be nice, and work hard to make everyone like you.

Fuck that shit.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit strong (and I am sure my profanity would raise my grandparents’ eyebrows!). I think I will always be someone who wants to create harmony and help people shine and grow. But these days, I’m not interested if it means I can’t also be true to who I am, or if it prevents my learning and growth. I reject the aforementioned messages from society at large. Thanks but no thanks.

Leon Festinger wants you to believe in yourself.

Hey, have you learned about Cognitive Dissonance Theory (CDT) yet? Maybe you covered it in Psych 101 a few years back? I can’t be sure because my long-term memory is a bit dodgy. In any case, I studied it recently in my Masters program so I happen to know it was proposed by Leon Festinger in 1957, and that it describes the “mental discomfort experienced when holding conflicting beliefs or when actions contradict beliefs.” When we experience this discomfort, we want to reduce the tension, and we can do it in one of three ways: by changing our thoughts/beliefs, by changing our behaviors/actions, or by rationalizing.

So when things go sideways and we fail, we have a choice to make.

Let’s say you have an entry-level job in public relations for a highly respected firm. You are a complete peon, but you work hard and you’re learning like crazy. You stub your toe one day, delivering less-than-optimal results on a project. You think you know why it failed, and you’re aware of the role you played in the failure. After a difficult meeting with your boss and her boss, you have a sinking feeling in your gut. This doesn’t feel good. So what do you do?

You could rationalize the suboptimal results and say, “Not every project goes to plan, and we can’t always control every variable. I was young and inexperienced, with little oversight or direction on the project.”

You could change your beliefs about your own intellect and capabilities and say, “Well, this just proves I’m not smart enough to work here. I should have known better or asked for more guidance.”

Or… you could take action to help support your belief — that you are, indeed, smart enough to work there. So you take accountability for the failure, but then also dig in to better understand why it happened, and how to avoid it in the future. You emerge wiser and more seasoned, setting yourself up for learning, growth and continued success.

Yes, this is a real scenario you will soon face. It will be stabbingly painful in the moment. But if you take the lattermost path, I guarantee that someday you will look back and appreciate the learning.

So I guess my advice is, don’t compromise when it comes to believing in yourself.

Tap into your inner child. Remember what it was like to ride a bike for the first time by yourself. Feel the wind in your hair, your tiny self planted on that banana seat, gripping those high, chopper handlebars tightly and feeling so free.

You dared to believe you could do something that once looked so difficult, so out of reach. Don’t stop daring, dreaming and becoming exactly who you are meant to be.

And keep opening those doors. No fear.

Me at the lake, maybe 10 years old. Circa 1979.