What we can learn from this, though, as humans, is that we
are not always going to do something well.
But we need to do it anyway.
Writers know this - it is why we expect to write many drafts of the same
story, poem, or whatever. By allowing
the mediocre draft to appear, word by painstakingly written word, we can then
begin to excise, and eventually to reveal, with some measure of grace and
graciousness, something at least a notch or two above mediocre. But without first surrendering to the
mediocrity, we have nothing to work with.
It’s a process.
We can know this and yet still refuse to believe it. For example, for years I wanted to be a
crafter: beading, jewelry making,
crochet, knitting, sewing, card making, etc.
I would gather my materials, follow the pattern, and attempt a project. And at some point, without fail, I would
become frustrated and disappointed with my results. I was a beginner, usually a true beginner,
and yet I was constantly comparing my (un)finished project to one of Martha
Stewart’s. I refused, absolutely and unequivocally,
to surrender to my own mediocrity. I
didn’t want to actually be bothered by the process and the practice.
I see this now. But
it was a long, drawn-out realization.
There is much about this life like this.
And one of the great and liberating wonders about this modern life is
that we have the choice to surrender to a mediocrity of our own choosing. You don’t have to adhere to generations of
your family’s interests or your culture’s traditions if those don’t appeal to
you. (And perhaps there’s a sadness in
that, but that’s a story for another day.)
I have chosen to surrender to writing.
Will I ever become a #1 New York Times Bestselling Author like
Cheryl? Pretty doubtful, but I will
continue, as she urged all of us at the conference, to bow before the
word. The words I write are
insignificant, but as Gandhi said, “Whatever you do will be insignificant, but
it is very important that you do it.”
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