I opened the delivery confirmation email from UPS and experienced a prickly feeling in my stomach. I’d created 21 UPS labels the day before, one for the recipient in question, for a letter still under review by a Senior VP. The 21 labels were still on my desk. The email from UPS, however, indicated I sent one of the 21 yet-to-be-approved letters, and UPS had delivered it. The prickly feeling spread from my stomach to my armpits.
What did I mistakenly send, if not the letter under review? Was it confidential? If so, now what? I found the recipient’s number (a restaurant) and gave them a call.
People who work in restaurants have no time for paper-shuffling mysteries. Yes, they had the envelope. I would have to wait to speak to the manager when he got in about what may happen next. I left my phone number and was left to wonder.
I thought perhaps someone had grabbed one of my UPS labels from the printer and used it as their own. I contacted my co-workers who had shipped via UPS the day before. All their packages or documents were delivered as expected.
Late in the day, well after the time I was told the manager would be there, I called the restaurant again. The manager was not in. He was sick. I told the person who answered the phone I knew she had little time to help me, but I would appreciate it if she called me back when she had a moment.
I confessed what little I knew about the situation to the Senior VP. I assured him I would find out what happened. I kept wondering: how could this have happened? I also thought, if mistakenly treating Veteran’s Day as an employee holiday didn’t get me fired, sending confidential material to the wrong recipient would.
The “manager” of the restaurant was the owner, which I learned when he called me back. The item inside the envelope wasn’t the letter, but it was an item for, and addressed to, him. The item was not sent in error. The mistake was the reference note, done by me, with the future letter in mind. I created the label for a co-worker and didn’t remember doing it.
The restaurant owner went on to say, between runny-nose sniffles, that what he received from my co-worker, though expected, was not in the amount he anticipated. I was more than happy to help him. At least, I told myself, I didn’t try to hide my potential mistake and my confusion. I could also say for myself that I didn’t delay in trying to find a resolution. My panic aside, it was funny how my confusion and quest for answers led to the opportunity for the owner to gain an answer to his own important question about the situation.
I’m the type to think my failures, my mistakes, define me. I’m obsessed with avoiding mistakes, and yet I feel like I make them all the time. For me, it’s all about the consequences that affect not just me, but others. I feel horrible if I let someone down.
I bounce between two mindsets on mistakes:
1) Mistakes should be avoided and never repeated; and,
2) mistakes should be expected and treated as learning opportunities, or speed bumps, “on the road to success”.
But must we make mistakes in order to learn our lessons? I’m skeptical. If true, then we would all be geniuses by the time we’re 30, and especially 40, and able to levitate by the time we’re 50. Isn’t there a third and better mindset on mistakes? I think so, but it isn’t trending.
Perfectionism is up among young adults, according to a study published in 2017 by the American Psychological Association, titled Perfectionism is Increasing Over Time. Young career-prepping Americans, Canadians, and Brits are more likely to hold themselves and others to stringent standards today than in 1989. A suggested cause is the “perfect” lives of others, as seen through social media.
I cringe as I see myself reflected in this. In the circles I frequent, “normal and good” is the pursuit of material and intellectual wealth – what stuff and accreditation we can afford to buy. From what I see, this pervasive ideal dominates the “First World” and few in its clutches are truly happy.
In contrast, what would social media be like if more people broadcast their mistakes? I’m not talking about bloopers, accidents, or wrongdoings submitted for public-shaming. How would we feel if more people posted their imperfections? What if we didn’t skip over our failures or mask our confused, inconsistent, and flawed selves in our daily struggle to make good?
Not long after my minor delivery kerfuffle, I experienced a major one. I attempted to send crucial documents to an out-of-state location, overnight, and during the week before Christmas. I didn’t double-check the pre-holiday delivery times, and the documents arrived late. Granted, no one informed me the documents needed to be delivered by a certain time, but that’s life – we rarely get all the details we may need.
I was devastated and, again, worried about keeping my job. If I speculate on why I am still employed at the same company today, it must be due to a combination of factors: my reliability, my dedication, and my willingness to admit and work hard to fix my mistakes. Also, though my bosses have high expectations, they are also reasonable, and want me to succeed. I often tell them I like my job and appreciate their leadership, (and not in a kiss-up way), and I think that helps too.
I will continue to make mistakes, but my current dance between two mindsets and my current reaction to mistakes – panic followed by depression – are not healthy. So, I intend to adopt a third and better mindset for mistakes – to see a mistake as a reminder of my human imperfection, a reminder to slow down, and a potential opportunity to help someone else.