Our society tends to view naivety as a weakness. Is there ever a time in your life when it was a strength?
Most of the time, not knowing the rules when you are working on a particular project leads to failure, and possibly even disaster. A lack of understanding can easily lead to a costly mistake. Learning on the fly is possible, but it takes time, skill, and luck to navigate.
Consequently, knowledge and experience is typically valuable and well-earned. Having been through something before, or having researched it and prepared fully can be invaluable.
However, there are occasions when ignorance confers a benefit. There are times when youthful enthusiasm, for instance, can make up for a lack of experience. Sometimes, not knowing how difficult a task is can allow you to try a method that a more experienced person might ignore. And sometimes an unconventional approach, more easily provided by a newcomer, is exactly what is needed.
Are there times in your life when your naivety or lack of experience was an asset? Starting out, did you accomplish things that you would never attempt once you knew more? Do you look back and marvel what you accomplished because you didn’t know it couldn’t be done?
Related questions: What experience helped you grow? Is more knowledge always better? When is it useful to fail?
Thirty-one years old, out of shape, and carrying more weight than I cared to admit, I decided something drastic was the only way to force fitness back into my life. So I signed up for Grandma’s Marathon, with only the faintest understanding of what I was committing to.
After several months of personal training to get my weekly milage to a point where serious marathon training would be acceptable, I enrolled in a formal program through the Minnesota Distance Running Association. I had no idea how much time and effort it would take to reach the starting line prepared for a 26.2-mile race—the stated goal of the program. For the next several months, my Saturdays began with long runs alongside roughly fifty other aspiring marathoners. We logged anywhere from 12 to 20 miles on these weekly long runs. The rest of those days were often lost to fatigue—naps and sore legs becoming familiar fixtures of my weekends.
Tuesdays were devoted to structured group runs as well, immediately preceded by a short program that explored the science behind endurance running. Three additional evenings each week, I ran alone, following a plan tailored to my fitness level and my goal finishing time—one that reflected exactly how much I was willing to invest in the process.
Would I have committed to running a marathon—one I ultimately finished almost exactly on pace with my training—if I had fully understood the work involved? Probably. But I’m grateful I didn’t know. My ignorance made the experience feel fresh. It allowed me to approach each run not as an overwhelming obligation, but as a single, meaningful step toward an ambitious goal.
I went on to run six more marathons. Thank you, runner’s high!