When I was in fifth or sixth grade, I had a school book with an especially captivating cover. I don’t remember exactly what the cover looked like, but I think it had a sketching of a bird or a flower or something beautiful from nature. I didn’t necessarily enjoy the content of the book — after all, it was a school book. But I loved the cover. And I wanted to be able to create beauty like that.
I found a piece of graph paper, and I started using it to, square by square, copy the cover of that book. I remember being very proud of my work. I thought it looked fantastic! And I was sure that meant I could be an artist if I really wanted to.
I never finished that copy. And, honestly, I have no idea how it really looked. Although I kept it for a while, I don’t really remember when it ended up in the trash can. It could still be in a pile of papers and such that I kept from my childhood, but it’s been so long since I’ve looked at those things that I don’t remember what is and isn’t there. But, what really matters is that the effort on that drawing never turned into even the smallest dabbling into art.
Why not, you may ask? Well, I learned very quickly that I couldn’t come up with ideas. Very few things captivated me like that book cover did, I couldn’t just doodle and come up with something that looked nice, and I never really got the “oh, you’re so talented” feedback that my younger sister got when she doodled and drew.
Over the years, I’ve learned that, while natural talent does have a place, skills like that have to be developed. I’ve also learned that art just doesn’t fall within the set of skills I have a propensity or desire to develop. I’ve learned that you have to do things badly before you can learn to do them well, but you also have to want to do the thing first. I didn’t want it badly enough.
But I’ve also had to learn a different lesson: Sometimes even when we’re good at something, and even when we’ve practiced again and again and again, there will be times when what we produce is just…bad.
Sometimes we can do things well that we’re not inherently good at. At times, even though drawing and painting never became my “thing,” I have still produced one-off projects that have turned out well. Meanwhile, I’ve put hours and hours into learning other crafts and skills, only to find that I still sometimes fall flat on my face when trying to produce an acceptable result.
But I’ve also learned that the process is as important as the end result. The effort that goes into sitting down and writing something that ends up being bad is important because means I’m still writing. I’m still working. I’m still seeking. If I refuse to work because the product is turning out poorly, then I won’t learn how to push through struggles to turn something hard into something good.
Not everything that I create will be good. (Something I wrote this morning was…rough, to say the least.) Hard work can’t always fix the problem. But hard work can always teach me how to strengthen my skills.
Now, there’s a difference between the work of my hands showing poor results and being plain wrong or bad in a disobedient or evil sort of way. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about being okay with a poor showing after solid effort. Being devoted to the process of learning and growing as much as I’m devoted to the result. Being persistent in pushing forward and trying again and again and again, even when I’m in a slump.
I’m not always great about that part, but I’m learning and growing. Some of what I’ve written will never see the light of day because it’s just…bad. Forced. Meaningless. But it’s important to me because it’s part of the process. Other things (many things? most things?) that I’ve written will get published even if they aren’t great, simply because they are part of the process, too.
As we develop our skills, may we all be willing to ask ourselves questions about the process as much as we critique the results. Are we learning? Are we growing? Are we discovering things about ourselves? Are we being honest with ourselves about where we are weak and strong? Are we evaluating ourselves honestly? Are we accepting the honest evaluations of those around us?
Then we’re growing.
And I think that might be the most important part of production. Not creating something perfect, but growing in the process of the creating.
Not Quite Ordinary 