Dear Daring reader,
2021 has a strong 2020 aftertaste, doesn’t it?
It feels heavy and uncertain, but its blade is duller than last year’s. The light at the end of the tunnel makes it sound like we are moving towards something, yet we are on a train that is stuck in 2020-mode which, at this point, feels like a drag. Add to that the anxiety of a slow reopening, and you get a mind space where there is little energy for creativity.
To be honest, struggling with output is nothing new for me. Do you ever feel like you are failing your ideas because you are not even jotting down notes? They appear, crystallize, and you barely acknowledge they are there. There is pressure, in the hustle culture I am surrounded by, to have the best possible output, created often and strategically. It has taken me a long time to let go of the feeling that I should write more to feel that I am enough. Also, I have learned to accept that I do not feel the need to monetize writing at all, especially not now. Despite all of that, it still feels like a letdown when ideas walk by, and don’t make it to a page or a screen.
Right now I am working on being at peace with how heavy everything feels, and how hard it is to be vulnerable, with a part of me constantly resisting the urge to create. Grace is giving myself space to feel the feelings and postpone what I can think of, but can’t ‘carry’ emotionally.
All the grace in the world cannot distract me from the fact that creating something I am not 100% happy with is a frightening nightmare.
Also, nothing can make me forget how scared I am when I share something personal, created by my own whimsical mind. It is hard to perform when you are afraid of your audience, a small one, which is good in my little world—still too big and made of people who have their own thoughts and opinions (electrifying AND petrifying at the same time).
A friend has recently reminded me of an experiment described in the book “Art and fear” by David Bayles and Ted Orland, in which two groups of students were graded using two different criteria. One was graded solely based on quantity; the number of pieces they produced for their ceramics class was going to be the only metric considered. The other group submitted their best piece, and focused on quality and accuracy. The results are not very surprising to me, especially since there are countless anecdotes that attest to the same thing: practicing the most wins the day.
Like the students who wanted the most accurate results, I am all in my head, trying to say something very well, too busy to write a single word.
And I am destined to fail. Yes, really. Without the practice I need, I am not going to get better. Forget that, I am not even going to get the message out!
This is when the baking comes in, and shows me what failure might look like. In March I baked two dishes, the one for my own comfort was easy and already tested, the other—a new experiment. What I love most about baking is that it gives you results for the effort you put in, so it doesn’t disappoint me. The new dish made me suffer, rolling out the dough seemed impossible, and I wasn’t sure anything would come of it. I endured the discomfort and managed to create something remarkably similar to a childhood dish I love. The other dish, the easy one I thought I could make without effort, did not turn out that well. Although the taste was fine, it didn’t look the way it usually did. The effort and practice paid off, yet, for a few minutes, I felt that wasn’t enough, and then reconsidered.
When I cook, success is not wasting food by creating something that tastes good; my ingredients are too precious to be thrown away. I wish I felt the same way about my ideas and my words. Not writing them down or abandoning drafts lacks the sense of urgency food gives me, because it feels like ideas don’t have an expiration date. Sometimes ideas ripen over a long time and need space to grow, yes, but they need to at least be saved first to be used later. I wish I could roll the ‘dough’ of my projects the same way I roll the very real one I don’t want to waste, no matter how tricky it is.
Baking is often my moment of epiphany when I feel like I am not able to create anything: it simply tells me I can do it. It also says that messing up one thing, the appearance of the cake for example, does not take anything away from the taste. Putting in the effort did deliver, despite not having regular practice, and the results were good enough to be enjoyed.
It gives me occasional satisfaction, and I wish I could apply this approach to other skills, including writing.
One of my favorite poets, and people, Shane Koyczan, said that words seem to stay fresh and to be able to wait, but they do indeed go bad. He says they are meant to be developed and used when the right time comes, usually when they are fresh, and that if they are not ignored, they can find their place and purpose. Someone asked him what he does with unfinished projects, lonely scribbles, and unused notes, all the things that never find a home. His answer was “Composting is the way!” Yes! Saving and planting them in flower beds of creative humus is worth it. We are not throwing anything away; what is edited out or unused now, might create fertile soil for what grows later. Isn’t it wonderful?
What I want is to make the most of my existence in this body, and to write to encourage more people to show up as they are to demand equal rights. The body after all is, and always has been, deeply political. The message is loud in my head, yet the mess and depression around it are overwhelming.
I commit to listening to the message, and conveying it like I really mean it, because I do.
What would you like to commit to? What would you like to do in the name of expressing yourself, not in the name of perfection?
(Perfection who?)
With pen, paper and determination,
Dare to be b@ld
P.S. You might have noticed I take pictures of the little things that mesmerize me on a daily basis. That’s something I practice regularly, and I am improving, not because that is my aim, but rather as a side effect of merely taking pictures and editing them!
Dare to be b@ld 