Everything is an experiment
These four little words are a remarkably effective antidote to overthinking.
I stood in the middle of Charles de Gaulle airport, carry-on luggage in hand, with a river of people streaming around me and six hours to wait before my next flight. Six hours! Surely that was enough time to get out and explore the city, right? I mean, how often does one get six unplanned hours in Paris?
This was back in 2005. I was 24, and I had only been to Europe once, briefly, on one of those guided group trips in high school. My heart was beating double-time over all the dreamy possibilities of an impromptu French adventure. But then a slew of practical questions started to formulate and my mind began to churn. How long would it take to catch a train into the city? And how do I get to the metro station from here, anyway? Would I have to go through customs twice, and wait in those super long lines? Did I need an exit visa to get out of the airport?
Most importantly: could I trust myself to venture out into a land where I don’t speak more than five words of the language, and make it back in time to catch my flight? I mean…what if I got lost? What if my passport disappears? Or what if I’m just strolling along, eating a pain au chocolat, and get mugged in a back alley somewhere?
The minutes ticked by.
There’s no shortage of inspirational, chase-your-dreams, one-sentence wisdom that might apply here:
“Stop thinking about it, and just do it.”
“Take the leap. Figure it out as you go.”
“Start before you’re ready.”
Yes, wonderful. Sounds great. I’m all for it. But as an adventure-seeker who is also a chronic over-analyzer, I often get stuck in my head, wondering: okay, but how, exactly? How do I start? How can I reliably get across the line from endlessly thinking about something to actually doing it?
Overthinking is my kryptonite. Even as a kid, I hated making decisions because I wanted to make the best decision — and so, I figured, the longer I delayed, the more time I’d have to gather information about all my options in order to choose the best one. I had to consider everything, think through all the possibilities. After all, picking one path means not picking all the others. Even for small things, that made the stakes feel pretty high.
This mindset has more or less followed me into adulthood. I’ve gotten marginally better at making decisions, but the overthinking-plus-perfectionism cocktail that runs through my veins is still a serious handicap.
Over the last couple of years, though, I’ve stumbled upon a powerful antidote for overthinking. The secret potion? Here it is:
Everything is an experiment.
Drawing on some lessons from a year of global experimenting, I’ve started to think about pretty much everything in life as an experiment. A prototype. Just a place to start, with a lot more prototypes to follow.
I used to believe that prototyping belonged solely in the realm of engineers and industrial designers; mechanically-minded folks who are good with tools and savvy with numbers. The scene that runs through my head is a grainy black-and-white film: a gang of begoggled scientists launching tiny model rockets into the air, scribbling formulas on grid-lined notepads; testing and analyzing the rockets’ speed and trajectory before investing the time and resources needed to build a full-size version.
It never occurred to me that the prototype idea could be applied to life itself, until I found myself doing it, in 2015: hopping around the globe, uprooting and relocating myself every 30 days or so for an entire year. This rapid, repeated life shift — which I undertook as a kind of personal/professional pilgrimage — brought with it the built-in opportunity to test and revise the way I did nearly everything. Everything from finding my way around a new city and navigating bus routes in foreign languages, to grocery shopping and meal planning, to establishing a sane morning routine in a revolving door of homes, housemates, and changing daily rhythms.
In the process of uprooting and re-planting myself every month, something kind of amazing happened. I found that getting the chance to do something 12 times — basically, having a dozen do-overs — took away the pressure of feeling like I needed to get it right. I didn’t have to figure things out on the first try, because I knew I had 11 more chances after that.
It dawned on me: this is not my final destination.
Realizing this flipped a huge switch for me. Being able to look at my life and see a series of experiments, rather than closed decision loops, helps break the paralysis of perfection and allow me to simply try things.
Little things. Big things. They’re all just experiments.
I started making quicker decisions — because, in my mind, they had become smaller, less weighty decisions. It’s like trying to get from point A to point B knowing you’ll be taking a hundred little pit stops in between, re-routing as needed; rather than gathering up all your courage and making one big, win-or-lose leap, hoping you’ll make it.
I found that I often ended up making better decisions, too, because I went with my gut (and didn’t second-guess it). In a landscape of constant transition, with new things coming at me from every direction, there just wasn’t enough time to overanalyze. I was forced to take my best guess, trust my instincts, and see how it played out. And then, readjust. Revise. Or scrap that first approach altogether, and try something completely different the next time around.
There’s another great little benefit I’ve discovered: this prototype-minded way of moving through the world is far less stressful than my usual, deeply considered approach. By doing a lot less pre-thinking about every move I make, my mind has a chance to hang out in the moment rather than constantly running ten or twenty steps ahead. I feel lighter and more present, this way. And it’s a lot more fun.
Speaking of fun — I did venture outside of Charles de Gaulle, that day. I took the subway into Paris and emerged at the foot of the Notre-Dame, the only stop I recognized. I ate pain au chocolat, and wandered the cobblestone streets, and breathed in as much of Paris as I possibly could in a single afternoon.
It was, in fact, rather dreamy.
Then I got back on the subway, threaded my way through the airport, boarded another plane, and settled into my seat.
On to the next destination.
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About the Author: Erin Rufledt helps organizations develop their brand strategy and story and bring them to life with design. She’s the founder of Luminary Lab, a design and strategy firm that works with companies big and small to align their vision, their customer experience, and their marketing to win more business and clearly communicate about the work they do.
