I was asked yesterday to write a bit about self-esteem and confidence, how to foster these in teens. I found myself, time and again, returning to the word “competence”. I realized that I use this word all the time.

My online reference tool informs me that competence refers, quite simply, to the ability to do something well. I have believed for years that it is competence that drives self-esteem, self-worth, confidence.

So I thought I would share a story here of a time in my life when I felt most competent. Maybe this would be inspirational, right? Well, what shot through my mind like a comet was the single moment when I felt least competent. I remember it like it was yesterday (close-up on me, stroking my chin, gazing into the thought bubble above my head).

Flash back: I’m twenty-one years old, a first-year auditor for one of the Big 8 accounting firms. Pre-Enron, this is considered a good gig. By all appearances, I am quite legit. I am a businessman now. I have a briefcase.

On this particular day, I am wearing the uniform of the accounting business: dark suit, white button-down oxford shirt, snappy red tie and, in my case, matching suspenders (it was the 80’s, give me a break). I am tired and pale from working 10-12 hour days, seven days a week, on the current audit assignment.

The client site is perfectly grim and morbid, dated, semi-industrial, fluorescent-lit. Client personnel come direct from central casting: poly-blend ties, huge glasses, short-sleeves, comb-overs.

The Dunder-Mifflin of temperature regulation system corporations.

It is lunchtime. Sadly, the brightest spot in a dark and airless day. I slide my tray through the line, once again selecting the moist, lukewarm Salisbury steak and green beans. I sit down, once again, with my co-workers. The ladder looks like this: Mark is our manager, smart guy, all business. Sandwiched between Mark and I are Mike, the senior auditor, and Natalie, the “experienced” auditor. I am low-man, bottom-rung, inexperienced”.

As the others discuss the finer points of our client’s balance sheet, I poke around at my plate and drift off in thought, wondering how I went from dynamic, excited college senior just a few short months ago to, well, this.

“John?”

Shit, it’s Mark, the boss. From his tone, it is clear that he has just asked me a question, and I have no idea what it is.

“Sorry, what?”

Mark, smiling broadly:

“Would you just tell these guys? What is the journal entry you make when you complete a sale?”

Oh God. He thinks he’s throwing me a bone. He’s offering me a question from Chapter One of “Accounting for Dummies”.

And I don’t know the answer. No clue.

Time is passing in silence. Seconds? Minutes? All eyes are on me, smiling at first, then concerned. I hear the Jeopardy theme song in my head.

I’ve always feared this day would come, that someone would find out. I’m an Accounting Fraud. I know nothing about it. I have no interest in learning anything about it. Why did I enter this field? I use none of my strengths here. I have no passion for it whatsoever. Why did they offer me this job?

And what happens now? Do CPA goons drag me off to a holding pen for incompetent auditors? Will there be a hearing? Do I get a phone call?

Finally Natalie, taking pity on me:

“Of course John knows that you debit “Sales” and credit “Cost of Goods Sold”.

Yes! You debit “Sales” and credit “Cost of Goods Sold”. Debit “Sales” and credit “Cost of Goods Sold”. Debit “Sales” and credit “Cost of Goods Sold”.

To this day, this entry remains the single accounting fact I retain. I am dying for a do-over, for someone to ask me Mark’s question again. Alas, it so rarely comes up in my daily discourse.

And I have never in my life felt more incompetent, in my life, than I did at that moment. And feelings of incompetence open the door to others: shame, embarrassment, sadness, all the bad ones. I felt like I was free-falling, and my sense of self-esteem was severely injured in that semi-traumatic event.

My wife appropriately refers to my time in accounting the Gray Years. Everything about me was gray. Upon reflection, I think the Gray-ness had to do, in part, to feelings of incompetence.

And Gray-ness is a major factor in why it is so important to allow our teenagers to find and hone their competence. With the best of intentions, my parents drove me toward accounting. Good paycheck, respectability, stability. Seems like a good idea, right?

But they never asked me what I wanted to do. And it was years before I could locate my passion, and with it, my sense of competence.

Have you asked your teenager what he wants to do, what he cares about, where his passions lie? If you haven’t yet, I suggest you start talking about it. He may not know now. But plant the seed. Keep talking. And more importantly, keep listening. It’s in there. He’ll find it.

Help him skip the Gray Years. He may even thank you some day.