I wrote a while back about the four stages of competence: unconscious incompetence, conscious incompetence, conscious competence, and unconscious competence. If you missed that one, you can read it here. Today I want to explore how we don't live in just one of these stages, but possibly all four at the same time. You might be a master in one area of your life and an absolute rookie in another. The fun part is realizing which is which.

When I first started working with Microsoft Access, I thought I was hot stuff. I already had a programming background, so I figured, how hard could this be? Tables, queries, forms, piece of cake. Drag and drop form designer? No problem. Yeah, right. My tables weren't normalized, my relationships were a mess, and I was basically duct-taping queries together hoping the thing wouldn't explode. Half the time I didn't even know why it worked - I just knew not to touch it again. That was my unconscious incompetence phase - I didn't even know how little I knew. Eventually, I read a few books and I learned enough to realize just how wrong I was. That's conscious incompetence: the humbling stage where you finally see the size of the mountain you're trying to climb. These days, I'd like to think I'm somewhere between conscious and unconscious competence. I still have to think about certain advanced techniques, but some of it comes as naturally as breathing. Funny thing is, when I look back at my old projects, I cringe. Ten-years-ago me thought he was clever. He wasn't.

When I first decided to start offering training, I figured I was set. I knew Access, Excel, and all the other Microsoft stuff inside and out. I was good with people, too. How hard could teaching be? Turns out, a lot harder than I thought. After my first class or two, I realized that understanding the material and teaching it are two very different skills. Building a database and teaching someone else how to build a database are two very different beasts. Teaching itself is an art that takes time, practice, and a whole lot of trial and error. I've seen this firsthand in college courses I've taken. Some professors were absolute geniuses in their field, but they couldn't teach their way out of a paper bag. Brilliant minds, but zero people skills. I once had a math professor who could derive equations but froze like a deer in headlights if you actually raised your hand, and couldn't make eye contact long enough to explain a fraction. It took me years - decades, really - to move from fumbling through explanations to instinctively knowing how to make a concept click for someone. Like any craft, teaching goes through all four stages of competence until it becomes second nature.

Business was another story entirely. When I started my first company, I thought if I just offered a good product, people would show up. Build it and they will come, right? Wrong. I was unconsciously incompetent when it came to marketing, pricing, and customer psychology. I thought success was all about the product, not realizing it's equally about communication and perception. I learned that the hard way - through trial, error, a few empty bank accounts, and one failed business. Over time, I moved into conscious competence. Now, when I launch a new course or project, I understand the importance of visibility, trust, and relationships. I still make mistakes, but they're educated ones.

Personal finance follows the same path too. When you're young and just starting out, you think credit cards are free money. "Hey, they gave me a thousand-dollar limit, that must mean I can afford it." So you buy something you don't really need, and a few months later you're wondering why that $300 purchase now costs $450. That's unconscious incompetence at its finest. Eventually you learn that compound interest works both ways, and paying 29% on fast food or video games is a lousy investment. Over time you move into conscious competence - budgeting, saving, understanding credit scores - and maybe even unconscious competence once you start automatically questioning every impulse purchase. But it takes a few bruises to get there.

Fitness followed the same pattern. Like a lot of people, I thought I could just start jogging or lift a few weights and magically get in shape. I had no clue what I was doing, no understanding of nutrition, recovery, calorie deficit, or progressive overload. The weight wasn't coming off. I was starving all the time, and every muscle in my body was screaming at me to stop. Even muscles I didn't know existed filed complaints. Then I learned just enough to realize how badly I'd been doing it. That's the cruel part of learning: awareness doesn't make you instantly better, it just makes you aware of how far you have to go. Years later, after studying and practicing, I'm in the conscious competence stage. Every lift, every meal, every rest day is intentional. And I know enough now to look back and laugh at my old routines. I was working hard, but not smart.

Even in politics, we see the same stages. People who don't understand how systems work often assume they're simple. That's unconscious incompetence in action. The same goes for naive young politicians who charge in full of energy, thinking they'll clean house and fix everything that's wrong. They quickly discover that the system isn't just messy, it's entrenched. The machine resists change because it's built to protect itself. It's like trying to reboot Windows 95 - you can hit restart all day, but it's still going to freeze. Once they gain conscious competence, they understand how the levers of power really move - and how painfully slow real progress can be. Unfortunately, far too many stop there and slip into the comfort of the status quo. Instead of pushing for reform, they take the easy road, make friends with lobbyists, and learn to play the game.

Even in Star Trek, we see the same progression. Reg Barclay started out as a nervous, socially awkward engineer who spent more time hiding in the holodeck than facing real people. That was pure unconscious incompetence - he didn't even realize how much his fear and avoidance were holding him back. Once he was called out on it, he became consciously incompetent, aware of his shortcomings but unsure how to fix them. Over time, through persistence and a few humbling experiences, he developed conscious competence - learning to channel his intelligence and push through his anxiety when it counted. By the time he appeared in Voyager, he had reached unconscious competence. The same guy who once stumbled over his words was now effortlessly solving complex engineering problems and keeping Starfleet in contact with a ship stranded across the galaxy.

Neil Peart touched on something similar in Rush's "Natural Science." He used tide pools as a metaphor for humanity - little self-contained worlds convinced they understand everything while forgetting the vast ocean that made them. That's unconscious incompetence on a cosmic scale. We build systems, technologies, even philosophies, thinking we've mastered it all, only to realize how small our understanding really is. We've only explored a tiny fraction of our own solar system, and even less of the universe beyond it. Our galaxy alone holds hundreds of billions of stars, most with planets we'll never see. We have no idea what we don't know. From that perspective, our confidence in our own knowledge is almost comical.

Yet, as Peart wrote, there's still hope if we pursue knowledge with honesty and integrity. Awareness of our ignorance doesn't have to be discouraging - it can be inspiring. Every discovery, every breakthrough, is another ripple reaching beyond the tide pool. The goal isn't to conquer the sea, but to understand our place in it. That's what moving through the stages of competence is all about - recognizing our limits, learning from them, and keeping the tide of progress flowing.

What's interesting is that we can be at different stages simultaneously. When it comes to Microsoft Access, I'm firmly in the unconscious competence stage. I can design a normalized table structure, write VBA, or build a form without even thinking about it. It's all instinct now. But when it comes to fixing cars, I'm consciously incompetent. I know enough to recognize that I don't know what I'm doing. I can change a tire and check the oil, but anything beyond that and I'm just hoping the car doesn't explode. Playing the piano falls somewhere in between. I'm consciously competent there. I can still sit down and play, but I have to think about what I'm doing. It's not automatic. Let's just say I'm no Stevie Wonder. And as for piloting a Starship - well, that's definitely unconscious incompetence. I've watched plenty of Star Trek, but if you actually put me at the helm, we'd probably end up inside a star before I figured out how to turn on the viewscreen.

LLAP
RR