A couple of weeks ago, I attended a birthday party for twin boys who had just turned one. The toddlers were a total mess: one cried every time someone picked his brother up instead of him, and they both had very short attention spans. The fussy boy loved sucking on the ear of his toy rabbit; his brother was fascinated by all the balloons decorating the room.
As is the standard for birthday parties, there was a cake for guests to consume, but the guests of honor could not eat it since it was unsafe for one-year-olds to eat cake. The parents brought a special cake for their children, instead: smash cakes. The brothers reacted differently from one another; one lightly pressed on the cake and gave a look of disgust to the surrounding adults. The other toddler had the time of his life — a grin across his face, he squashed his small cake, kneading it as though it were dough.
Letting go of his inhibitions had consequences, though. Bits of frosting and cake flew everywhere and landed on his brother, himself and the gathering crowd. His brother, appalled, let out a shrieking cry.
The other boy, for whatever reasons that made sense in his one-year-old mind, believed he needed to join his brother in sound. Instead of yelling at or admonishing them for making such a stupid mistake, the adults and I just laughed and cleaned up after the twins.
Where does that forgiving mentality go when babies turn into teenagers and adults?
A few months ago, I had the idea of making an at-home wax hair removal because I was too lazy to use tweezers for my eyebrows. I had all the necessary ingredients, according to some recipe website I found. All I needed to do was use the stovetop to boil them together until it was properly mixed.
I had only used the stove two or three times previously, but I figured not much could go terribly wrong with just throwing sugar, water and lemon juice together, right?
Before I could stop it, the mixture poured out of the pot and all over the stovetop. It was that day that I learned what caramelization is and, with just the right amount of heat, how fast it can occur. I also realized in cleaning up my aftermath just how sticky and hot wax is, and that simple paper towels cannot wipe away the mess nor protect me from the heat.
When I figured out a sponge, soap and time were my best bet, it was just my luck that my mom happened to walk into the kitchen, and my mother was not as relaxed as I was with the mistake I made.
I understand that the sight of my standing next to a boiled-over pot of caramelized sugar was a cause for alarm, but being yelled at only made me afraid to attempt anything related to wax ever again, in fear of making another wrong move.
Wrong moves are how we learn, though, and 10 minutes of yelling weren’t about to stop me from going on with the waxing process. While everything that happened had a terrible fallout, I don’t regret my experience.
As I overcame my fear of getting in trouble for using wax through sheer will, I discovered more about makeup and skincare, and thus the world around me.
To be human is to be fallible; it is to make mistakes. As toddlers, we learned how to walk by trial and error, and this same method applies to scientific breakthroughs. Heck, someone thought of penicillin because he accidentally let mold grow. The entirety of human knowledge comes from the mistakes of our past, in both individuals and as mankind. If we allow ourselves to break free of apprehension and not stop others from something that could be a learning experience, just imagine what we as a human race will continue to accomplish.