Is experience necessary? I’ve read a few articles lately written by 20- and 30-somethings that experience is overrated—in fact, not even necessary—when it comes to one’s career. This, of course, is a backlash against Baby Boomers, for whom experience was almost always required when job hunting and who now, with many years of on-the-job experience, naturally think it’s an asset.
Here’s what I think: If you asked a 23-year-old preparing to have brain surgery if he or she would rather choose a doctor who had never done such an operation or one who had done the same procedure more than 20 times with success, the answer would be the latter doc (if not, then that 23-year-old should have his or her head examined). However, I agree that 20 years of experience at a job does not necessarily mean you automatically perform that job better than a smart neophyte who’s had some training. (Although, isn’t it ironic that younger people think older people are clueless about technology and can’t learn it, when the reality is, a big reason why some older people adapt less easily to new technology is that they are less familiar with it—you know, inexperienced. Not to mention that it’s hard to see and press those tiny buttons when you need reading glasses and have arthritis. But I digress….)
What I have come to learn as I’ve grown older is that it’s not so much experience that’s valuable on the job or in life. It’s the perspective that experience brings. By 40 or 50, you’re aware that most of life and business is cyclical (and the concept that the seasons, they go round and round did not originate with Joni Mitchell or even The Lion King; you can read about it in the Old Testament—to everything there is a season—and goodness knows some cave person carved it into a wall somewhere). Perspective teaches you that yesterday’s Total Quality Management is today’s “best practices.” Tomorrow, there will be another name, but it will all boil down to balancing what best for the company, what’s best for the customer, and what’s best for you. No matter what it’s called, do your best work and it usually works out—if not at this job, then the next.
With perspective, you learn that if the FedEx truck arrives two hours late, it’s a shame, and maybe even an expensive inconvenience, but so long as the truck isn’t carrying a life-saving kidney, it’s probably not that big a deal in the grand scheme of things.
You learn that money isn’t everything, but it does help. And it really helps if you can keep the importance of money in perspective. You learn that you really don’t know what something—child rearing, cancer, being the boss—is like until it happens to you (there’s that experience thing again).
You learn that it really is a good idea to be nice to people on the way up, because you’ll probably meet them on the way down.
You learn that no matter how wonderful someone’s life or job looks from the outside, there is probably something sad, bad, or illegal in their past, present, or immediate future.
You learn that every day you wake up and your children are alive and healthy, you have healthcare, and/or the roof hasn’t fallen in, is a good day. That it probably is a good idea to turn the lights off when you leave a room, not leave the water running, write thank-you notes, smile, and wear your hair off your face, just like your mother told you.
You learn that nothing lasts forever, so enjoy it while it lasts.
Perhaps it is my Greek heritage, but I have spent a lot of my life acutely aware of the concept of hubris, that you don’t tempt the gods by reveling in your accomplishments and good fortune. I grew up in a culture where mothers routinely pinned a mati, an evil eye charm, to their children’s undershirts to protect them against misfortune in the world, and who never gave a compliment—especially to their own children or another young person—without immediately following the words with the sound “ptoo-ptoo-ptoo”—spitting on the devil three times so he wouldn’t punish the child for her beauty or talent.
I have always worried when things are going well. Get a new job? Maybe we’ll wreck the car. Buy a new house? Worry we’ll lose a job. Have a healthy baby? Keep one eye on the thunderclouds, waiting for that lethal bolt of lightning. I fretted so much when things were going well that I couldn’t enjoy the happiness because I was so worried about how I would be punished for my good fortune. Once, a simpatico acquaintance told me: “You’re like me. You’re not happy unless you miserable.”
However, what experience—living—taught me is that you can be happy or miserable, rich or poor, boastful or diffident—it doesn’t matter. Bad stuff is going to happen anyway. What perspective has taught me is to not go over the bend in these situations, because it can always be worse. Always. And to appreciate what I have rather than worry about losing it.
One of my favorite movie scenes is in Young Frankenstein when Frankenstein and Igor are digging up a body in the graveyard. It’s creepy and smelly and dirty and completely disgusting and Marty Feldman says, “Could be worse.” And Gene Wilder says, “How could it possibly be worse?” and Feldman shrugs, “Could be raining.” And then there’s a crack of thunder and a downpour. See? It got worse. And yet, it’s very funny.
When things are going very badly, my husband and I often look at each other, shrug, and say, “Could be worse. Could be raining.” And then we laugh. Because what perspective has taught us in our “old age” is that, indeed, things could always be worse.
And, invariably (in my experience), they get better again.
Happy New Year. Keep it in perspective.
