There’s a quiet tremor in the air when we stand at the edge of something new. Perhaps it’s a new language, a musical instrument, a sport, or simply a hobby you’ve long admired from afar. The moment before we begin is thick with possibility—and, let’s be honest, a little fear. That’s how I felt when I signed up for my first drawing class and my first watercolor class.
We often romanticize the concept of mastery—watching seasoned experts move with effortless grace—while quietly dreading the awkwardness of our first steps. But in truth, the act of beginning, the courage to be a novice, is among the most daring and transformative decisions we can make. This blog is an ode to the beauty, humility, and hidden power of being a beginner.
There’s a term in Zen Buddhism, “Shoshin,” which means “beginner’s mind.” It is the open, eager attitude you bring to a new pursuit, unburdened by biases, beliefs, and judgements. As adults, we often lose touch with this mindset. We become wary of embarrassment or failure, and it can feel safer to stick to what we know. Yet, the “beginner’s mind” is where the magic of growth truly happens.
As a professional coach, I practiced beginner’s mind with my clients. I worked at keeping the space open, being careful not to make assumptions, jump to judgments or allow my biases to enter the space. As an artist, adopting a beginner’s mind means recognizing my self-assumptions, judgments, biases, and the resulting resistance that shows up!
Starting something new is rarely comfortable. Our brains are wired to seek safety and routine, but creativity and fulfillment dwell just outside those boundaries. The initial discomfort—feeling lost in a new life stage, drawing your first image, painting with the instability of water, fumbling with guitar chords, stumbling through your first dance steps, sweating over foreign words—is proof that you are stretching beyond your current self.
It’s easy to look at talented individuals and assume their skills appeared overnight, but every expert was once a beginner. The difference is not talent, but persistence and the willingness to endure the discomfort of that first chapter. Here are a few things I’ve learned along the way: