Oh hi, it’s been awhile. Thought I’d pop in with a life update, in case you’ve been wondering where your favorite occasional blogger been.

Which, to put it simply, has been on the exquisitely terrifying journey of “trying” — and a lot of failing (or almost failing), and a little bit of succeeding, at really big things.

We don’t hear a lot on the topic of trying, much more on failing and succeeding. But that middle part, the boring and arduous process of doing a little bit each day, sometimes a step forward, usually a couple backward, doesn’t get a lot of coverage.

Maybe because trying isn’t cool. Succeeding, cool. Failing, maybe cool — but only if it’s actually a success, if there’s a clear silver lining or lesson involved. But trying — ugh, no. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and nebulous with no clear end in sight.

Maybe because trying, at least at first, seems to implicitly suggest failure, that status quo isn’t enough, that you’re lacking something, or aren’t enough in some way. Or maybe it’s because trying is too risky, that putting yourself out there on a limb should never be done unless you’ve guaranteed that the limb won’t crack, or that there’s netting below to catch you and put you right back, unscathed, to the place you were just before you started, in case it does fall apart.

As a “tries really hard at everything” person with an extreme amount of experience at trying, and trying... and trying... and more trying... let me be the first to say that, in one way or another, all of the above has truth to it, but there’s something more to it, something I believe is essential to being human and we just don’t recognize it.

Take marriage as an example, an area where I’ve been trying a lot more than I ever thought possible or necessary. At first, I didn’t try at all— and why would I need to, because it was easy and fun to be married! Then life threw us some curveballs, and it became hard. We didn’t know we were supposed to be trying, and we definitely didn’t know how, so we didn’t. Our marriage went through a rocky period, and I threw myself into trying at it, at first in all the wrong ways (such as giving Wes tips for improving himself, which I would *strongly advise against* if you want to make *any progress*) but it led to the right ways (such as working on myself as a wife, seeking counsel from trusted guides, and establishing daily practices that put our partnership first) that strengthened our relationship to the point where it almost seems easy again, save for this new “perpetual trying” thing we’re both doing. I’m pretty sure “trying” is the secret sauce of all happy marriages. Sounds so obvious, doesn’t it? But somehow, it’s also complicated.

Or take writing a book as an example, a journey that I expected, strangely, to be easy and fun. The craft of writing, in and of itself, sort of was. Everything else has been an arduous, boring, time-intensive process of learning what it takes to publish a book, partly though research and reading, partly through experience. And by experience, I mean drafting and sharing my (extremely amateur, if I’m being fair) book proposal with every publishing house accepting new authors I could find—and getting crickets; seeking an alternative path through networking—and getting nowhere; reaching out to all my favorite authors—and getting just three, but very important, affirmative responses. It was enough to get me over the slump to pursue the self-publishing route, where I got more experience—in book layout, cover design, marketing strategy—and also got mired in trying to understand the complexities that come with publishing a passion project while working for a global management consulting firm.

And then, as soon as I got to the base of the tree, with everything I needed to go out on that limb, I froze. Thought about deleting the whole thing, stopping the process, crawling back into my comfortable, status quo space where I’d be safe from failure and judgment and the pain that comes with growing.

In my day job, I work in innovation strategy, which has taught me a lot about the tension between our impulse to be in control of all variables, to proceed only with as many facts and figures as humanly possible, versus our desire to grow. I tell my clients to take leaps of faith, because it’s impossible to grow if you must have guaranteed success, and zero risk, in order to move forward.

The same exact goes for living.

“Trying” is just a fancy way of talking about leaps of faith in our lives. Which is that trying—seeking to grow into a better human, having the courage to do something new, to get over the fear of failure and judgment to respond to what you feel pulled to do—is what being a human being is all about, as much as we like to resist it.

The opposite of living, of fully experiencing what it means to be a human, is succumbing to perfectionism — a vague, lifeless, slippery, and boring pursuit that keeps us in small, stale spaces safe from failure, while blocking our growth and fulfillment in the process.

Anything worth doing in this one life we’ve got — whether it’s getting married, having a child, starting a business, sharing your creativity, or whatever it is you really, really want to do — requires us to take leaps of faith and go through the messy, endless, beautiful process of trying.

So go forth and try, and let me know if you need me to carry you up the tree trunk and push you out on that limb. Now that I’m sitting out here on a limb myself, swaying in the wind, I realize how silly it was to be afraid to take the leap, because I’ve never felt more alive and more myself than ever before.

If you read this far, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments — have you ever had to overcome fear in order to push yourself to try something new? What did you learn? And what tips do you have for recovering perfectionists who might be reading this?