The wisdom of the fool

Getting dumped is one of life's most fabulous experiences

What I listened to while writing this:

Getting dumped is one of life’s most fabulous experiences. It may be brutal for the ego, but it frees the soul.

These moments don’t just teach us how to handle rejection; they teach us how to handle ourselves.

A push towards the life we’re meant for.

My friends have always said I’m the only person who enjoys dating. And I think it’s because I’m never afraid of looking like a fool.

Because looking stupid and getting broken up with is good.

The word stupid comes from Latin stupidus—meaning “struck senseless, amazed.” From stupeō: “to be confounded, to be amazed.”

Which makes being stupid sound… kind of incredible?

Over the years, I’ve had identities projected onto me like costumes I never chose: Brilliant genius. Ditsy girl. The most beautiful girl at school. Not good enough for him. Perfect for this job. Not senior enough for this role. Too senior for that role. Making a lot of money. Could be making way more money.

I’ve been all and none of those things, depending on who was looking.
Because those labels never belonged to me. They were mirrors, reflecting the insecurities, longings, and fears of the person speaking.

The only real lesson I learned from working at Goldman Sachs was this:
Many people treated me very differently when I said I worked at Goldman Sachs versus when I said I went to Temple University.

That’s when I began to see how power, and the illusion of power, distorts everything for people who haven’t found out that they are fools too, yet.

Because after swinging between power and powerlessness, I’ve realized: we’re all foolish humans. Even the Goldman Sachs person. Even the Harvard grad. Even the astronaut. Even the CEO.

The people I’ve come to admire most are the ones who treat others (and themselves) the same, whether they’re up or down, rich or poor, adored or overlooked.

The ones who dance when they’re broke and dance when they’re wealthy.

Some are kind when they’re weak, but cruel when they gain power.

Others are graceful in strength but collapse when life humbles them.

It’s how we behave in both states that shapes our character.

Some of us spend our lives trying to prove we’re not fools—hell, I spent all of my twenties doing this.

Others take center stage and reveal their foolishness freely because they know we’re all fools, just some of us are too afraid to admit it.

Two weeks ago, I lost what felt like a superpower: the safety provided by a person I thought and still sometimes think is my love.

And when it ended, I returned to my single life.

Of course, I still spiral. I replay moments. I criticize myself. But I’ve been trying to pause. Make tea. Go on walks. Write myself gentle notes. Treat myself the way someone who loves me would.

To be brave enough to show up without guarantees. To risk. To love. To laugh and learn from my failures. To be seen exactly as I am, knowing I could be rejected for it, but also knowing I’ll never be truly loved if I never revealed it.

The biggest fools still pretend not to be, so I say this to myself more than anyone: just keep making a big fool of yourself.