I Don't Believe in Imposter Syndrome.

I don't believe in imposter syndrome.

This concept has insidiously taken root in our collective consciousness and I find it maddening.

By definition, an imposter is a fraud, someone who pretends to be someone else in order to deceive others. But here’s the thing: not knowing something doesn't make you an imposter; it makes you a beginner—a seeker of knowledge, a wanderer in the vast unknown. To be a beginner is to welcome the humbling experience of starting fresh. It means standing at the threshold of what you know and acknowledging the endless possibilities of what you have yet to discover.

In a society that constantly demands expertise and flawless performance, imposter syndrome thrives on the idea that we should have all the answers, instantly and effortlessly. But knowledge isn't a fixed destination; it's a flowing river that meanders through the landscapes of our lives. And here's the truth: nobody has it all figured out. The longer I live, the more I realize how little I know, and it delights me! Because regardless of outward appearances, the fundamental truth remains—we are all stumbling through something, piecing together fragments of understanding as we journey through life. It is within this messy, imperfect, glorious and resplendent humanity that true beauty resides.

Still, the way others perceive us, the biases they hold, and the expectations they project onto us can shape us and profoundly impact our self-perception. I know it all too well. The undeniable reality is that those who defy societal “standards,” whether due to their identity, experiences, or the courage to forge their own path, often face the disheartening experience of being dismissed, overlooked, or misunderstood. Narrow-minded judgments laced with disbelief.

When we dare to pursue our dreams, we expose ourselves to scrutiny and doubt. And in those moments, we have an opportunity—a dare, if you will—to answer the skeptics and our own inner voices when they ask, "Who do you think you are?" The skepticism echoes in our minds, challenging our audacity to rise above their limited perceptions. But it's also a chance for self-reflection and affirmation, a commitment to unwavering belief in our own abilities. It's the ultimate invitation to transcend expectations and initiate a new journey of self-discovery.

"If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?" T.S. Eliot asked, inviting us to venture into uncharted territories where we may find ourselves overwhelmed and out of our depth. Because it is precisely in these moments that we catch a glimpse of our true stature.

Personally, I relish being underestimated. To stand tall in the face of skepticism and doubt—undaunted and unyielding. How others perceive me is merely context, information to be considered. This is not to say it is irrelevant; undoubtedly, context and information hold significance. They shape our lens through which we perceive the world and navigate its complexities. However, they should not define our reality.

So, we accept the challenge to answer back, to initiate an expedition to unravel the mysteries of our own potential, guided by an unwavering belief in our capabilities. It won’t be easy; we will undoubtedly find ourselves teetering on the edge of uncertainty, engulfed by the unknown. But it is in these moments, when we are in over our heads, that we catch a glimpse of who we might become. Through the pursuit of challenges that push us beyond known limits, we gain a newfound awareness of our own resilience, tenacity, and depth.

My journey to becoming an author is both simple and rather remarkable. I woke up one day with a sudden, but crystal clear knowing that it was “time.” Nothing had happened. No one had approached me saying “you should write a book!” I hadn’t been sitting on an idea that was finally ready to come forward. But it was time. So I emailed the only person that I knew in publishing - who, last we spoke in 2011, worked at a NYC literary agency that specialized in fiction, representing the likes of Nicholas Sparks, (then) Emily Giffin, and Taylor Jenkins-Reid, best-selling authors whose books were turned into movies - and I told her that “it was time,” and asked for advice on someone to think aloud with me on the narrative structure. She replied with delight, and in addition to offering a recommendation on a potential resource, shared that the agency had expanded to include nonfiction and that there was someone I should meet. She immediately set up the call.

Two days later, I was on Zoom with Emily (aka my book Day 1) and her colleague, an agent in their nonfiction practice. I shared the “concept” for my book, which I hadn’t spent any time considering, let alone outlining, and definitely hadn’t said aloud to anyone. They loved it. Within a week, I was discussing the idea of a book and a book proposal (something I didn’t even realize I needed to do!) with an incredible executive editor who’d worked with Brené Brown on Daring Greatly and Rising Strong. (I, for sure, died a little.) She also loved it. A week after that, I was signing with one of the most prestigious literary agencies in the country.

Being a beginner gave me the privilege of na?veté. Sure, a quick Google search could have outlined the “steps to getting a book deal,” but even that didn’t dawn on me. I hadn’t done the calculus of how daunting this process could be nor the statistics of the odds of finding an agent, completing a book proposal, and getting a book deal from one of publishing’s Big 5. Not once.?

When we embark on a new endeavor, whether it’s a career change or a creative pursuit or a personal transformation (or writing a book which, it turns out, is a combination of all three), we become beginners in a world of endless possibilities. And that, I believe, is where magic happens. It’s in the truly humble beginnings, flawed and unfinished, that we discover something new about ourselves that our comfort zones could never reveal.

Every master was once a novice. Every expert started from scratch. They didn’t spring into existence with all the knowledge and skills they possess today. They had to learn, stumble, and rise again. They had to grapple with the discomfort of not knowing, the vulnerability of being a beginner.

Consider this your invitation to reframe your relationship with knowledge and expertise. To relish the opportunity to be a beginner, to approach the world with wide-eyed curiosity and a hunger for understanding. Growth lies in the gaps, I’ve been known to say.

Not knowing doesn't make you an imposter. It makes you a courageous soul, daring to venture beyond the confines of comfort and familiarity.

Not knowing doesn’t make you an imposter. It makes you human.

I'll see you next week,

Daria