What am I going to do with this?
Those were the first words out of my mouth when my father handed me an accordion folio.
It looked like one of those cabinet drawers at the local mechanic’s office, where the office manager stored invoices. Only, this one was laid out on my kitchen table.
My father explained that heretofore, I’d be keeping all my paper receipts in the folio.
This process would help me keep track of my spending. And it would provide a paper trail for tax filing.
I stashed the folio in my coat closet. It was bulky and unsightly, after all.
But each week, I’d retrieve it from its dark hiding place. And I’d proceed to fill it with that week’s paperwork.
So it went, week after week. Until eventually, more of my bills and receipts went paperless. And the folio in the closet started collecting dust.
The folio beneath my skull, though? That was another story.
An elephant never forgets.
This age-old adage is based in fact. The bulky, lumbering animal relies on its massive memory banks for survival. It’s a competitive advantage in a world filled with nimbler predators.
Humans don’t need to rely on memory for such existential reasons. But we still hold this attribute in high regard.
I know this as well as anyone.
When I was young, adults would marvel at my knowledge of car models or state capitals. It was trivial information, but the fact that I retained it was somehow considered notable.
Such is the allure of memory. It causes us to tilt at windmills, to fawn after window dressing.
Of course, there is some tangible value in memory. It helps us ace exams in school, thrive at work, and stay connected to our social circle.
But so many other applications are less than essential. Such as keeping receipts.
This is not the practice of filling up a folio with paperwork. It’s the tendency to fill our minds with all the slights volleyed in our direction.
Receipt keeping is an extrinsic motivator. It provides us a bit of edginess. It puts a chip on our shoulder.
It’s the reason why football coaches openly share negative mentions of their team with the players themselves. It’s the reason why scholars continue to seek out their next academic paper. It’s the reason why innovators turn It can’t be done into Watch me do it.
Without that virtual ledger, the spark would dim. Complacency would threaten to degrade the task at hand.
So, we endeavor to remember each slight. To file it away, and to get to work on changing the narrative.
It sure is satisfying to cash in those receipts. To prove the doubters wrong. To gain a level of redemption.
But such actions are not core to our survival. They might even prove detrimental.
I have a folder in my email platform, which I’ll often notice when checking my messages.
This folder is tied Rejections. And it has 151 items in it.
The Rejections folder had humble beginnings. I had just cannonballed into the job market after switching careers, applying to dozens of jobs each day. I needed a system to keep track of my applications.
Filing job rejection emails in a single folder uncluttered my inbox. And it allowed me to take those closed opportunities off the board.
But as the folder filled up, its purpose changed. Being told No 151 times – particularly for something that would help me put food on the table – was deeply agitating. And I started to take the rejections personally.
I was determined to prove all the doubters wrong. And even after I finally landed a job, I kept glancing at the Rejections folder.
Those who sent me the Thanks but no thanks messages knew nothing of this, of course. But I pretended that they had – and that the error of their slight had given them pause.
This all kept me deeply motivated. And I thrived in my new career as a result.
On the surface, keeping receipts had served me well. But all was not as it seemed.
The practice had made me more cantankerous, and those around me noticed the shift. Friends remarked that I’d hold grudges for months on end. Family would remind me that I had nothing left to prove.
I tried to take this feedback to heart. I yearned to change my ways and settle into my rebuilt life. But it proved difficult.
The scars of my recent job search were still there. The months of applications and interviews. The drawdown of my savings. The 151 rejections.
How could I just let that go? How could I let anything go?
There was no water to be found under the bridge. Not at that time.
Eventually, though, I did loosen up. I perused that Rejections folder less frequently — and eventually not at all. I let grudges go and leaned into forgiveness. I stopped keeping receipts.
And in doing so, I found a semblance of inner peace.
My experience with the job rejection folder is not uncommon.
Not everyone gets turned down for employment 151 times. And even if they do, they likely don’t keep those rejection emails in a folder.
But plenty of us have kept receipts in some form, only to see the exercise consume us whole.
We become chippy and vindictive. Settling scores obscures our joie de vivre.
This is not a desirable outcome. The costs outweigh the benefits.
And it’s not all that sustainable. If the outside noise quiets, the receipts dry up. And our motivation wanes.
So, it might be worthwhile to rethink our approach. To stop using those receipts as fuel. And to turn to intrinsic motivation instead.
Yes, everything we need to succeed lies between the ears. We can tap into confidence just as effectively as we can counter doubt. And the results can prove far more harmonious.
Let’s tap into that.
It may be tempting to prove others wrong. But it’s so much more rewarding to prove ourselves right.