Keeping Receipts

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.

Discouragement vs. Doubt

Don’t take it too fast.

This was the advice I got from some friends as I headed to the starting line of a fun run.

These words were sensible.

I had just returned to running from an injury. And there were no medals to be won in this event.

Plus, it was my second run of the day. And I’d felt some soreness in my ankle and knee in my first go-around that morning.

So, I heeded the advice — for a bit.

I jogged nice and easy for the first mile. But then I felt the itch to let it fly. And I scratched that itch.

I breezed my way through the second mile, and the third. I ultimately crossed the finish line with a head of steam.

I felt great — for a moment. Then I didn’t.

My knee and ankle were suddenly angry again. Walking became difficult. And the pain persisted for days.

I would soon be shut down from running once again. And I would eventually require surgery, keeping me from my passion for much longer.

I had mistaken discouragement for doubt. And I’d end up paying the price.


Let’s prove them all wrong.

It’s the rallying cry found in just about every underdog sports movie.

Sure, it’s cliché. But these words draw on a fundamental truth.

Doubt, you see, can be a powerful motivator. When others don’t show belief in us, it can put a chip on our shoulder. It can motivate us to take our performance to another level.

We’re hard-wired to say no to doubt. We’re inclined to reject the doubter’s narrative — unless that doubter is us.

But discouragement — that’s something wholly different.

Discouragement is meant to both advise and protect. While doubt wagers that we can’t do something, discouragement tells us to not even try.

This might make discouragement seem like the harshest of rebukes. But such a perception is merely a mirage.

Why? Well, consider who’s delivering the message.

Those who discourage us are often looking out for our best interests. Those who doubt us aren’t looking out for us at all.

These are two extremely different sentiments. Yet, they’re two sentiments that can easily get conflated.

When we consider discouragement as nothing but doubt, we’re tempted to run the stop sign. We feel obligated to do the thing we’ve been warned against. And we are doomed to travel a path to sabotage.

It’s all too easy to fall into this trap. But avoiding the danger can be tricky.


I deliberated for an entire weekend.

I had been accepted to two business school programs. And now, I had to decide which one I’d attend.

So, I thought about it. I prayed about it. And after a couple sleepless nights, I came to a decision.

I felt confident in my choice. But then I informed my parents.

They were none too thrilled. Instead of celebrating my decision, they implored me to go with the other program.

I was annoyed by this development. All that work I’d done had been categorically dismissed.

Was I not an adult capable of making my own decisions?

But I thought about where my parents were coming from. They wanted the best for me, and their rationale for reversing my choice was sound. It would be worthwhile to take another look.

So, I did just that.

I reconsidered the points I’d laid out in favor of the program I’d decided on. And I weighed those against the points my parents had made in favor of the other one.

In the end, I stuck with my choice — rebuffing my parents. And ultimately, this decision paid off in spades.

I made new friends and business connections. I got a top-notch education. And I was able to take my career to the next level.

Yes, it turns out the discouragement from my parents was unfounded. Passing it up did me well, but it also set a dangerous precedent.

Indeed, this precedent might have spurred me to take off during that infamous fun run. Sure, others might have claimed to know what was best for me. But hadn’t I proven I could figure that out for myself?

No. I most certainly had not.


Act with discretion.

This advice seems simple, but it’s deceptively complex.

When there’s no line drawn in the sand, we can struggle to find our way. Each decision we make is a high stakes bet. One that could make our future — or destroy it.

Discouragement is but one path to the discretion quagmire. But it’s a particularly treacherous one. And it leaves us uniquely vulnerable.

You see, discouragement flies in the face of everything we’ve been taught. It disrupts everything we believe.

Yes, from our earliest days, we’re conditioned to power through adversity. More than two centuries of American stick-to-it-iveness have shown the value of mettle.

Achievement is unlocked through doing. So, when someone we trust tells us not to do something, they better be right. Otherwise, they’ve just led us astray.

This is the issue at the heart of discouragement. The messenger views it as a clear-cut edict. The recipient isn’t quite so sure the message is credible.

It all amounts to a high-stakes staredown.

Maybe it’s time to continue the conversation. Instead of instantly reacting to words of skepticism, maybe we should ask why.

Why are we facing discouragement? What’s the rationale for it? What’s the evidence behind it?

This context — or lack thereof — can help us navigate uncertain waters. It can help us determine whether to heed the edicts of discouragement, or to defy them.

Now, this strategy is not foolproof. The future is inherently uncertain, after all.

There will be times when discouragement causes us to be too conservative. And there will be times when defiance proves foolhardy. Freer discourse won’t eradicate either error.

But by asking more questions, we can come closer to clarity. We can cut down on the guesswork and gain confidence in our decisions.

And we can stop conflating discouragement with doubt.

Let’s get to it.

The Ambiguity Trinity

There’s an old adage: You never forget your first professional moment of crisis.

I can still remember mine.

I was fresh into my first post-college job, working as a news producer in Midland, Texas.

My job was to put together the 5 PM and 10 PM newscasts — which made me a jack-of-all-trades.

I organized each newscast, determining which stories would run where. I coordinated with the reporters and made sure their full-length reports ran on-air as planned. I wrote news scripts for the anchors to read. And I contacted the authorities to confirm developing information as it arose.

These last two responsibilities were the most critical. For they helped get fresh information on the airwaves, while adhering to the three principles of news: Be First. Be Right. Be Best.

At first, I had no trouble with this part of my job. This was years ahead of the era of toxic anti-media sentiment, and Midland had something of a small-town feel.

The officials I talked to would generally confirm the information I was asking about instantly. And I was able to get most stories on the air with little to no trouble.

One day, that changed.

I can’t remember the story I was working on covering that day. A shooting perhaps. Or maybe a car accident. Whatever it was, I’d heard about it on the police scanner that sat by my desk.

I sent our cameraman to the scene to get some footage. But it was getting perilously close to 5 PM, and there was no way that footage was making the early newscast. So, I would need to write a short summary of the situation for the anchors to read on the air.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number for my police contact. But when I asked them about what I’d heard over the scanner, I got an unexpected reply.

“All we can confirm is that we have officers on the scene,” they said. “We have nothing more we can share at this time.”

I descended into a panic.

I couldn’t run the story. For I couldn’t confirm that what I had heard over the scanner frequency was accurate.

Yet, I couldn’t not run the story. If I did that, our viewers would be denied important information — and our competition would get the edge on us.

What was I to do?

My boss — who was both the news director and an anchor — overheard my dilemma and gave me some quick advice.

“Tell the viewers three things,” he said. “What you know, what you don’t know, and what you’re working to get more information on.”

It was a simple, straightforward tip. Yet, hearing it lifted a weight off my shoulders.

I got back to work, quickly typing out a news script that looked something like this:

Police are on scene investigating an incident in West Midland. We don’t know at this point if anyone has been injured in the incident. We have a crew on the scene and will bring you more information as we get it.

With three short sentences, I covered all three points of emphasis. And even without assistance from the authorities, I was able to get accurate, fresh information on the air.


What happened that day might seem like a small win. But it left a lasting impact on my life.

Since then, I’ve encountered many moments of uncertainty. Many times where I’m on the spot and I don’t have all the answers.

It’s no fun at all to be in this spot. To be caught off-guard. To feel trapped and dumbfounded.

But fortunately, I have the antidote. For I know there are three questions I can for sure answer:

  • What I know
  • What I don’t know.
  • What I’m working to get more information on.

Yes, I’ve made those same three questions I used to get that story on the air into a blueprint.

I call these questions The Ambiguity Trinity.

The Ambiguity Trinity helped me plenty of times in my TV news career. But it’s helped even more in the years since I left the media behind.

In fact, it’s gotten me out of more tough spots than I care to count.

I’m no longer dumbfounded when a client calls me out of the blue to go over something out of left field. I no longer freeze when facing a gauntlet of questions after giving a presentation.

The Ambiguity Trinity is like a security blanket. It keeps me from losing my poise or getting exposed.

And unlike the art of shooting bull, The Ambiguity Trinity stands the test of truth.

There are no fancy elaborations required. Just the simple facts that are at hand at the moment.

It might not be a perfect solution. But it’s darn close to it.


The Ambiguity Trinity can help us out in a pinch. But could we be selling it short?

After all, what we know, what we don’t know and what we’re working to learn more about are the three fundamental pillars of our lives.

In a world where knowledge is power, expanding our knowledge base is critical. So is the act of reducing our unknowns.

Indeed, the quest to learn mirrors the directive to grow. It’s imperative.

So, why are we relying on these principles only in times of crisis? Why do we only aspire to answer these questions in times of crisis?

Is it because of our hubris? Our ego? Our misplaced self-assuredness?

Perhaps.

In a culture built on confidence, sharing what we don’t know is generally considered unwise. It reflects doubt and vulnerability. And each is a principle the confidence movement seeks to banish.

So we hide what we don’t know from the world until we figure it out. Unless the world calls our bluff, and we have to show our cards.

Then, and only then, The Ambiguity Trinity is our ace in the hole.


It need not be like this.

We can get much more mileage out of The Ambiguity Trinity. And we can glean so much more from the world as a result.

Sharing what we know, what we don’t know and what we’re working to learn more about can make us seem honest and self-aware. That transparency can breed trust. And trust can forge connections.

Yes, a little more openness can go a long way.

So, let’s stop hiding from the unknowns. Let’s embrace them head-on, with The Ambiguity Trinity as our guide.

For uncertainty might await. But so might opportunity.

Let’s seize it.

The Dunning-Kruger Reality

One of my favorite psychological concepts is the Dunning-Kruger effect.

This effect — named for the psychologists who discovered it — explains a common cognitive bias.

In particular, it describes the gap between how we think we perform at a task and how we actually perform at that task.

The Dunning-Kruger effect proclaims that those who are the most confident in their performance are, in fact, all too often overconfident.

For example, if someone is convinced they crushed an exam, there’s a pretty good chance they got a B instead. And if someone thinks they’re the best at the task they do, there’s a good chance they’re actually solidly above average.

This effect is more pronounced in men than in women. And since it’s a metacognition error, the person affected has no way of recognizing the predicament they’re in.

To borrow some old-school Hip-Hop lingo, those afflicted by the Dunning-Kruger effect are acting a fool, with no ability to check themselves before they wreck themselves.

There are many reasons to be intrigued by the Dunning-Kruger effect.

For one thing, it can serve as karmic justice who talk a big game yet fail to deliver. For another, it can provide scientific backing to the Schadenfreude we feel when those with the biggest egos get knocked down a few pegs by reality.

Most of all, can make us seem slightly less cruel when calling out people for their misplaced hubris. After all, saying You Dumbass is subjective. Saying You made an error in judgment that any of us could have also made is objective.

Yet, this is not what intrigues me about the Dunning-Kruger effect. For I see this effect as more than just a vehicle for derision.

I see it as an explanation of where we are as a society today.


If you’ve been paying attention to the news in recent years, you’ve likely noticed two themes.

Powerful men in media and entertainment have seen a reckoning, as the women they’ve exploited have held them to account. And powerful men in politics have acted more brazen and boisterous than ever, with seemingly no one in place to hold them to account.

It’s a strange dichotomy. One group of powerful men falling, and another group seemingly becoming infallible.

Yet, while these men are on opposing career trajectories, they have one thing in common: A large group of detractors.

The detractors despise these men. For who they are, what they’ve done and what they’re still doing. As such, they haven’t been shy in voicing their displeasure.

Yet, when these detractors describe their sworn enemies, they all too often use E words.

Entitled. Egotistical. Evil.

I think these detractors are off track. The word I think more accurately describes the powerful men in question starts with an O.

Overconfident.

I believe these men are mired deep in the quicksand of Dunning-Kruger effect. So deep that they’ve become delusional.

The ingredients are all in place for this explanation.

These men were raised in the early generations of Bro Culture. Many of the transgressions of their youth were often dismissed with the phrase Boys will be boys.

As they grew up, success seemed to follow them anywhere they went. Whether through talent or connections, they were able to make it to the next level with relative ease. Fame and fortune followed.

The result was predictably toxic.

A group of men who never learned boundaries with an outsized sense of confidence and too much power. The Dunning-Kruger effect on the biggest of stages.

The transgressions and blunders that followed were, sadly, predictable. Whenever that much unchecked overconfidence is in place, delusion sets in, and collateral damage piles up.

Tragically, that collateral damage has ruined many women’s lives and jolted international diplomacy and trade. It’s led to an era marked by mistrust, anger and polarization.

The world as we know it is getting sucked into the maelstrom. All because of a destructive condition we can’t control.

Or can we?


 

I am a terrible dancer.

I know it. I believe it. And I’m not shy in admitting it.

Whenever I’m at a party, I make it abundantly clear that I’m not going to be dancing.

I do this for self-preservation. It’s not just that I can’t bust a move. I’m literally afraid to try and do so.

Yet, as the night goes on and my friends get a few drinks in, they inevitably drag me onto the dance floor.

And each time, something interesting happens. I find out I’m not as bad at dancing as I thought I was.

I’m no Patrick Swayze or Bruno Mars, of course. But I can hold my own.

This revelation represents the other side of the Dunning-Kruger effect.

In Dunning and Kruger’s initial studies, they not only found a large group of people who were overconfident in their performance on a given task, but they also found several people who underestimated their abilities on the same task.

There are several explanations for this. On a basic level, people exhibiting this behavior might have experienced failure before, along with the dreaded sensation of FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt). These feelings, on their own, can raise apprehension and lower confidence.

But when you factor in all the overconfident people out there — the very ones who are exposed as frauds by the Dunning-Kruger effect — things get interesting.

Could it be that the underconfident people equate confidence with ability? That they see the people with the biggest bravado and exclaim There’s no way I’m at that level?

It could be so. And indeed it is.

Underconfident people often battle something called Imposter Syndrome. Even when they see visceral success, they often believe they are not truly qualified for the task, and it’s only a matter of time until they’re found out.

I myself frequently battle Imposter Syndrome — in my job, in my social life, and even occasionally when writing these articles.

It’s a crippling phenomenon. One only exacerbated by the Dunning-Kruger effect.

Someone battling Imposter Syndrome is likely to see an overconfident person as a standard bearer for achievement. While the actual gap in performance between the two might be small or nonexistent, the underconfident person will feel as if they just don’t measure up.

This thinking is problematic in our culture. Our society favors boldness and self-belief; Imposter Syndrome is all too often viewed as a self-created roadblock to realizing our own potential — one that must be eradicated at all costs.

Yet, given what we now know about Dunning-Kruger effect, I wonder if that’s the right tact to pursue.

If boldness makes us delusional and causes a trail of collateral damage that polarizes our society, is it really the best ideal to strive for?

Perhaps it would be better to let that FUD slip into our lives. To put ourselves in position to fail now and then so that we know where the guardrails lie. To estimate our abilities off our own experience, rather than the flawed self-assessments of others.

If we can do all that, then perhaps someday Dunning-Kruger effect wouldn’t be the catastrophe-maker it currently is. It could become a quaint psychological term to describe the select few who resist their better angels. The few who would still insist on talking the talk without walking the walk.

The rest of us would be grounded in reality. The reality of life in its rawest, purest form.

I’d sign up for a future like that. Would you?