. . . is to be willing to be bad at it first.
That usually means looking foolish in front of others.
It means lacking the tools, skills, and even terminology you need in order to bridge the gap between what you’re capable of doing and what you’re trying to do.
It means trying and failing, sometimes publicly, while you make the effort to develop a skillset that matters to you.
I wish there was an easier way. I don’t like doing a bad job, especially when others are watching.
Evaluating.
Judging.
What I want is to just set my mind to something—maybe read up on it a little bit—and just know how to do it well. To have some natural inclination that makes the whole process a simple and painless one.
Not to struggle. Certainly not to struggle in the open, where people can see.
But that’s just silly. That’s how it works.
We struggle. We reach. We grasp. We slip. We fail. We learn. We get back up and try again.
Every time, a little better.
Every time, a little closer to the goal.
An art teacher once told his students, “Every one of you birds has a hundred thousand bad drawings in you. The sooner you get rid of them, the better it will be for everybody.”
Get comfortable with doing a bad job at things.
Don’t aim to do a bad job, don’t be content with a bad job—but get comfortable with aiming high and missing the target in a spectacular way. It’s going to happen a lot in both our physical and spiritual pursuits. A bad job isn’t our final destination, but it’s a necessary stopover if we ever want to get good at anything.
The alternative is to be the guy who buried his talent in the ground—and we all know how that worked out for him.
What are you trying to get better at?
And are you willing to be bad at it along the way?
Learning to play the flute. I’ve never had lessons, but I keep trying to improve.
Have you always been a good writer or was that something you had to learn to be bad at before you could be good at it?
Ha! I’ve always LIKED writing and maybe always had a knack for it, but I don’t think I’ve always been GOOD at it.
It’s funny—I’m putting together the next Sabbath Thoughts ebook and looking over posts I wrote 15 years ago. I wince a little bit reading some of those older sentences—why did I use THAT word? Why did I try making the point THAT way? Even if it’s not objectively bad writing, it’s definitely not how I’d write the same thing today.
But I also know that I couldn’t write the way I write now if I didn’t first write the way I wrote back then. And that’s a pretty cool thought. All those years of writing things different helped me to write the way I do now. And it makes me excited to know that (God willing) I’ll be even better at it 15 years from now. But only if I’m willing to keep being imperfect at it.
This was one of my favorite readings Jeremy, thank you. I would like to be much better at bringing the lost to Christ.
Sounds like spokeman’s club…
All part of learning humility, is it not? Part of the journey. Thank you, Jeremy!
Jeremy, thank you once again! Your timing could not have been more perfect for this post. Thank you for letting our Abba Father guide and direct you in all your writing pursuits.
I’ve seen that quote from the art teacher before, and this is one of those life lessons that’s so worth learning. But the way you ended your thought, the contrast of the buried talent – well, that drove the point even deeper! Thank you!
Do it (everything) with all your might! That’s what matters!
As often the case we may have natural talent we’re things come a little easier, but I’ve found, the things we have to work the hardest at. usually bring the biggest benefit to our lives, and make more of a change to our caricter then those that come naturally.