There was a fascinating story on NPR recently (Struggle for Smarts, November 2012) about cultural differences between Japan and the US related to learning. To put it in a nutshell, Americans are keen on appearing to be smart while the Japanese put more emphasis on persistence. I encourage you to read the article in its entirety.

Consider for a moment two children. One has been told directly and indirectly her entire life that she is smart, that being smart is most important, and that smart people are the most successful.

The second child has been told just as often that her effort is most important and will be the reason for her success.

Which child will be more willing to take the risks necessary for learning? The one who wants to look smart or the one who will be applauded for persisting until successful? 

If appearing to be smart is one of the most important things, what do you do when you don’t know something? When you are stuck on a problem? When people around you are talking about something that is confusing?

Will you ask questions freely? Seek help readily? Try new things eagerly? Volunteer your ideas quickly? Stick your hand up first even when you know you could be wrong?

I certainly know the world of the first child! I grew up in it, perhaps to an extreme. My parents thought we were too smart and talented to need school or lessons.  – Good thing it turned out to be true! 

Thankfully, I have learned that persistance is critical! But the transition hasn’t always been easy. Asking the question that might make you look stupid can be really, really hard. And for me, the difference isn’t about being applauded for effort instead of brains. It’s about learning. I can’t learn unless I ask questions. I can’t learn unless I try new things. I can’t learn unless I take risks. It hurts sometimes and I don’t always do it, but I know learning is more important to my success and my happiness than the slight chance that I will make a fool of myself.

And it is a slight chance. More often than not when I might be worried, many of the others present are thankful for my questions.

As one of the vast majority of American children who was born above average, I avoided situations where I wasn’t confident I could stand out and sought activities where I could, like riding a unicycle, holding my breath underwater, or being the toughest little minuscule kid in the neighborhood. However, during my senior year in high school, I decided to get out of the orchestra pit and try out for the musical “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown.” After all, it was my last chance.

One day while I was practicing the title song, my already graduated brother who had starred in school musicals, walked into the room. Of course I quit singing instantly, but it was too late. He had heard me. “If you are going to sing it like that, there is no point in trying out.”

“What do you mean? I asked.”

“All of the girls from the choir will try out and they will all sing sweetly and softly just like that. If you are going to sing it like that, you might as well stay home.”

He left the room and I continued singing softly and sweetly. But I kept hearing his words.

When the day of the audition came, I sat in the auditorium waiting to hear my name. I wasn’t listening to any of the other singers. All I could hear was, “If you are going to sing it like that, there is no point in trying out.”

When my name was called, I walked down the aisle, up the stairs, and toward the center of that stage with those same words echoing in my head. “If you are going to sing it like that, there is no point in trying out.” I can still remember the moment when I turned toward the audience. It gives me shivers even now. I turned slowly, took a deep breath, and then belted out “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown. You’re the kind of reminder we need. …” with all the guts and volume I could muster. For a few minutes there, I wasn’t Ann, I was Lucy. No doubt about it. There was nothing soft or sweet about the way I sang. And I was so proud.

No, I didn’t get the part. I remember standing in front of the director with the other finalist a few days later. He had us both turn around slowly and then he announced that she looked more like Lucy. She did too. She was also the star of several past musicals. I learned a lot that day. I was pretty proud to be standing there as the only other serious candidate for the part.

So stop worrying about making a fool of yourself. Put learning first. Ask questions. Try new things. Think of my brother’s words: “If you are going to sing it like that, there is no point in trying out.” Singing softly and sweetly just doesn’t cut it. Get out there and sing it like Lucy!