Learning to Distrust My Own Enthusiasm

Early in my career, I embraced every emerging technology with an enthusiasm bordering on genuine religious conviction.

I championed at least three separate platforms that colleagues quietly, correctly predicted would fail within a couple of years.

Each time, I convinced leadership to invest significant resources based largely on my own unbridled excitement rather than evidence.

The pattern repeated with an almost embarrassing regularity, and I never quite connected my role in these recurring disappointments.

A particularly blunt colleague eventually pointed out that my excitement seemed to function as a kind of professional liability.

That comment stung considerably, though I couldn't dismiss it given the mounting evidence of my repeated, costly misjudgments.

I started forcing myself through a deliberate cooling-off period before advocating for any new tool or platform publicly.

That waiting period felt unnatural at first, almost like suppressing an instinct that had defined my professional personality.

Gradually, though, I noticed that most of my initial excitement evaporated once I examined the technology beyond surface novelty.

The remaining fraction of ideas that survived that scrutiny turned out to be genuinely worth pursuing more seriously.

Colleagues noticed the shift, and my recommendations gradually began carrying considerably more weight within leadership discussions.

I still feel that initial surge of enthusiasm whenever something genuinely novel appears, and I've stopped trying to suppress it entirely.

Instead, I simply treat that enthusiasm as a starting signal for investigation rather than as conclusive evidence itself.

Distrusting my own excitement felt like a personal betrayal at first, but it ultimately made me a far more credible advocate.