Still Learning — Beginner Mind

A few days ago, I learned something humbling.

It came from a creative project that required me to step into a role I had never fully appreciated before: being an interviewer.

For most of my life, I have considered myself a good listener.

As a movement teacher and Reiki practitioner, listening is at the heart of what I do. People share their stories with me, and I genuinely enjoy hearing them.

What I didn't fully appreciate was that listening and interviewing are not the same thing.

After spending a day and a half reviewing and editing a recorded conversation, I felt there was something missing. I couldn't quite identify it, so I asked a close friend to listen and share his thoughts.

His feedback was simple and insightful.

There were several moments where a thoughtful follow-up question could have opened the door to a deeper story. A simple question might have revealed a richer memory, a more meaningful reflection, or a detail that would have helped bring the person's character to life.

As soon as he said it, I knew he was right.

And I felt terrible.

For a few minutes, my inner critic took center stage.

Why didn't I ask those questions?

How could I have missed those opportunities?

The truth is that I cared deeply about the project. Realizing how much I still had to learn felt like a blow to my confidence.

So I curled up on the couch and felt sorry for myself for a while.

Instead of trying to fix the disappointment, I simply watched it.

Over the years, I have developed trust in my own process. I know emotions have their own weather patterns. They arrive, gather strength, and eventually move on. They arrive, gather strength, and eventually move on. For ten or fifteen minutes, I let the storm pass through.

What I noticed was that part of me was holding onto a fantasy that I might be naturally good at this from the beginning.

Reality had a different message: I was a beginner.

​As the emotional weather settled, I found myself returning to a more balanced view. Yes, there were missed opportunities in the conversation and yes, I had also taken the first step into learning a new craft. Both things were true.

The project did not need perfection from me.

It needed patience.

It needed practice.

It needed time.

Part of the challenge comes from stepping into a language that has never felt as natural to me. Long before I learned to express myself through words, I learned through movement. Dance, movement, and non-verbal communication have always felt like my first language. English is my second language, both literally and figuratively. Even after many years, I still feel I am learning how to better express myself through words.

A good interviewer must listen deeply while also knowing when to step in, ask a thoughtful question, and gently guide the conversation forward. I have come to realize that a good interview is a form of art.

Like any art, it requires practice, patience, observation, and time.

Looking back, I realized I was asking myself for a level of mastery that I would never expect from a client learning a new movement pattern. When we learn something new in the body, we rarely get it right the first time. We learn through repetition, awareness, adjustment, and practice. Perhaps learning any new skill follows a similar path.

The experience reminded me that growth rarely feels graceful in the beginning. It often feels awkward, imperfect, and humbling.

Yet perhaps that is exactly what makes it worthwhile.

Perhaps one of the quiet gifts of experience is not that we stop making mistakes or stop feeling disappointed.

Perhaps it is that we learn to trust ourselves through the process.

We learn that the storm will pass.

We learn that balance will return.

And we learn that being a beginner is not a problem to solve.

It is simply where every new journey begins.

With gratitude,
Mandy

Reiki • Somatic Movement • Pilates • Yoga