In our modern lives, there is a pervasive tendency to preface our passions and goals with disclaimers. Whether it is a creative project, a career move, or a personal aspiration, we often find ourselves using "shrinking language" to minimize the importance of what we care about. This behavior stems from a deep-seated fear of vulnerability and failure, a phenomenon that has only been amplified by the hyper-visible nature of our digital existence.
We often introduce things we care about with phrases like, "This is so random," "I know it's cringe," or "It's nothing serious, just for fun." By labeling our deepest desires as mere "casual curiosities" or "hobbies," we create a safety net. The speaker notes that admitting we want something that has "no guarantee of welcoming you" feels incredibly exposing.
This behavior is a form of self-protection. We fear the internal and external scrutiny that comes with genuine effort. When we voice our ambitions, we become susceptible to thoughts like, "Who do you think you are?" or "What if no one cares?" By downplaying our efforts, we try to avoid the pain of disappointment—the fear that "hyping something up" and having "no one showing up" would be "terrifying."
While the instinct to protect oneself is not new, the digital age has changed the stakes. Today, "public documentation has become the norm." From LinkedIn posts to Instagram announcements, our attempts, pivots, and aspirations are often permanently etched into the digital record.
This creates a paradox: we only feel comfortable with our past efforts if they result in a "success story." If a project leads to a "bestseller" or a "blast" of a trip, that documentation becomes "proof of grit" and "evidence of persistence." However, if things do not work out, that digital footprint remains, and the "earlier version of you still lingers somewhere." This potential for failure makes people "cautious," leading them to wrap their hopes in jokes to protect themselves from the judgment of others—and, more importantly, from themselves.
Ultimately, the speaker challenges the notion that being seen while trying is something to be ashamed of. We often "make what we care about sound smaller" because we do not want to "disappoint ourselves." We treat our genuine ambitions as "experiments" to keep our options open and our egos shielded.
However, the reality is that wanting something inevitably involves risk. When we make our desires visible, we "accept the fact that the outcome is no longer entirely yours." This is a normal, albeit uncomfortable, part of the human experience.