Better an Oops Than a What If. Bees bumble. Maybe we should, too.

I have decided that “better an oops than a what if” might be one of my new favorite approaches to life.

Not because consequences don’t matter.

Not because we should fling ourselves recklessly into every questionable idea that crosses our minds.

But because I think a lot of us have spent a lot of our lives waiting until we’re sure.

Sure we’re ready.

Sure we know what we’re doing.

Sure we won’t embarrass ourselves.

Sure we’ll succeed.

Sure we won’t regret it.

Sure we can explain the decision to everybody else.

And while we’re standing there gathering certainty, life keeps happening.

Meanwhile, the bees are bumbling.

🐝 Bees Bumble

Have you ever actually watched a bumblebee?

Not just noticed one. Watched one.

Their daily operations do not exactly scream precision engineering.

They buzz over here.

Change direction.

Circle something.

Disappear behind a flower.

Come back.

Land.

Take off.

Investigate something that appears to have absolutely nothing to do with their previous destination.

And somehow, in the middle of all that wandering around, they accomplish some pretty important shit.

They pollinate.

They gather food.

They communicate.

They contribute to an ecosystem far larger than themselves.

They get stuff done.

And they do it while bumbling.

I find this enormously reassuring.

Because maybe we have dramatically overestimated how graceful progress is supposed to look.

Maybe Progress Looks More Like This

Try something.

Nope.

Turn around.

Try another thing.

Interesting.

Get distracted.

Learn something.

Circle back.

Land somewhere unexpected.

Accidentally discover something useful.

Keep going.

That sounds a lot more like my actual life than:

Step One → Step Two → Step Three → SUCCESS.

We love the straight-line version of growth because it makes everything feel controllable.

Set the goal.

Make the plan.

Follow the plan.

Achieve the thing.

Except human beings aren’t spreadsheets.

Healing isn’t linear.

Careers aren’t linear.

Relationships aren’t linear.

Parenting certainly isn’t linear.

Posttraumatic growth isn’t linear.

Becoming yourself isn’t linear.

Sometimes you don’t know what the next right thing is until you try something and discover:

Well. Not that.

And strangely enough, not that is still information.

An Oops Gives You Something a What If Can’t

An oops gives you data.

An oops gives you experience.

An oops gives you a story.

An oops gives you information you didn’t have yesterday.

An oops can be corrected.

An oops can send you in another direction.

An oops can teach you what you want.

Sometimes it teaches you what you absolutely, positively, under no circumstances want.

Also useful.

And occasionally, an oops becomes one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

A what-if, on the other hand, can sit untouched for years.

• What if I had tried?
• What if I had applied?
• What if I had said something?
• What if I had started writing?
• What if I had gone?
• What if I had left?
• What if I had stayed?
• What if I had worn the damn thing?
• What if I had let myself be seen?

There are certainly moments when caution is wisdom.

But other moments, what we call caution is actually fear wearing a sensible little cardigan.

And sometimes you have to ask yourself:

Am I genuinely protecting myself here, or am I trying to guarantee that I never experience discomfort?

Because those are not the same thing.

Your Wings Don’t Have to Look Big Enough

There’s an old story that, according to science, bumblebees shouldn’t be able to fly.

That’s not actually true.

Bees obey physics just fine.

The problem was that people once tried to understand bee flight using assumptions that didn’t adequately describe how bee wings actually work.

The bee wasn’t breaking the rules.

We misunderstood what the bee was capable of.

Well.

That’ll preach.

How many times have you looked at yourself through somebody else’s assumptions and decided your wings weren’t big enough?

Not experienced enough.

Not educated enough.

Not young enough.

Not thin enough.

Not organized enough.

Not confident enough.

Not healed enough.

Not ready enough.

Maybe you’ve even built a convincing case for why what you want cannot possibly work.

And maybe your calculations aren’t entirely wrong.

Maybe they’re simply based on an incomplete understanding of what you’re capable of doing once you start moving.

Your wings don’t have to look big enough.

Use them anyway.

Posttraumatic Growth Requires a Little Bumbling

This is one of the things I love about posttraumatic growth.

Growth after hard things isn’t about emerging from adversity as a shiny, enlightened person who now makes flawless decisions because you’ve learned your lesson.

Please.

Sometimes growth is simply becoming willing to participate in your own life again.

To experiment.

To trust yourself with choices.

To discover that making the wrong decision doesn’t automatically mean catastrophe.

To recognize that discomfort isn’t always danger.

To try something new without knowing exactly who you’ll become on the other side of it.

After difficult experiences, certainty can feel incredibly appealing.

If I can predict everything, maybe I can prevent anything bad from happening again.

Except safety purchased through complete avoidance gets expensive.

Eventually, you pay for it with curiosity.

Opportunity.

Connection.

Play.

Adventure.

Creativity.

Possibility.

Pieces of yourself.

Posttraumatic growth asks something different.

Not recklessness.

Participation.

The willingness to engage with life even though you know now, perhaps better than you ever wanted to know, that life cannot be completely controlled.

That takes courage.

And sometimes courage looks remarkably like bumbling.

Some Days You’re Pollinating

Some days you’re absolutely crushing it.

You’re making decisions.

You’re taking care of yourself.

You’re having the difficult conversations.

You’re creating things.

You’re showing up.

You’re pollinating the whole damn garden.

And some days?

You’re flying directly into a window.

Both are data.

That might be one of the most useful things we can learn about ourselves.

Not every bad day requires an identity crisis.

Not every failed attempt means you’re incapable.

Not every wrong turn means you’ve ruined your journey.

Not every uncomfortable feeling means you made the wrong choice.

Not every imperfect landing means you shouldn’t have flown.

Sometimes something just didn’t work.

Okay.

What did it teach you?

What needs adjusting?

Where’s the next flower?

Bumble. Adjust. Fly Again.

Maybe resilience doesn’t always look like standing tall and declaring that nothing can knock you down.

Maybe resilience occasionally looks like: Well, shit. That didn’t work. Let’s try this.

There’s something beautifully freeing about becoming a person who trusts herself to recover from an oops.

Because then you don’t need every decision to be perfect.

You don’t need to predict every outcome.

You don’t need everyone’s approval.

You don’t need absolute certainty before you move.

You just need enough trust in yourself to know:

If this doesn’t work, I’ll learn something.

I’ll adjust.

I’ll ask for help.

I’ll change direction.

I’ll try again.

I’ll figure out what comes next.

That kind of self-trust creates an entirely different relationship with life.

Maybe the Goal Was Never to Stop Bumbling

Maybe we’re supposed to get comfortable enough with being alive that we stop treating every wrong turn, awkward attempt, changed mind, failed experiment, and imperfect landing as evidence that we’re doing life incorrectly.

Maybe the goal isn’t to finally become a person who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Maybe it’s becoming someone who isn’t terrified when she doesn’t.

Someone curious enough to experiment.

Grounded enough to adjust.

Brave enough to change her mind.

Compassionate enough to forgive herself.

And resilient enough to fly again.

The bees are out there doing essential work while zigzagging around the garden with pollen stuck all over their fuzzy little butts.

Maybe that’s the lesson.

You don’t have to look graceful.

You don’t have to know exactly where you’re going.

You don’t have to wait until your wings look big enough.

You just have to participate.

Make the call.

Submit the application.

Write the terrible first draft.

Take the class.

Go on the trip.

Wear the outfit.

Ask the question.

Say the thing.

Set the boundary.

Start over.

Change your mind.

Try again.

Because sometimes the choice isn’t between doing something perfectly and doing it badly.

Sometimes the choice is between an oops and a what if.

And I’d rather collect a life full of lessons, stories, unexpected flowers, strange detours, changed minds, imperfect landings, and a few spectacular oopses than spend it wondering what might have happened if I’d trusted my wings.

So…

Bumble.

Adjust.

Fly again.

🐝💛

Better an oops than a what if.

Go bumble your fuzzy little butt toward something that matters.

Brilliantly Bee