The other day, my friend posted a story about Kurt Vonnegut on Facebook. To summarize the anecdote, 15-year-old Vonnegut explains to an archeologist he’s working with on a summer dig all of the activities he’s involved in like sports, theater, music etc. The archeologist is impressed, but Vonnegut adds that he is not very good at any of the activities. What the archeologist says in response leaves a lasting impression on Vonnegut: “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them.”
I’ve been reflecting on this story, and how it relates to our current world. With more free time and more time spent at home, I’ve seen friends whip up new creations in the kitchen, pick up a skill like knitting or sewing, and return to passions like painting and writing (myself included). My hope is that these newfound or remembered passions won’t dissipate and won’t be cast as frivolous once life goes back to “normal.”
What resonates with me about the Vonnegut story, is that most of us tend to think that a passion or hobby is only worth pursuing if we excel at it. We have to make luxury-shop-worthy candles, or the most decorated cupcakes, or have a singing voice like an angel. Why waste time on a skill that isn’t going to go somewhere, right? Why put energy into an activity if there’s no hope that we will ever be the best?
I’ve enjoyed seeing peoples’ interests unfold during this time. I like seeing the new jewelry maker, the sourdough bread enthusiast, and the home-workout creator. It’s fun to see the unexpected side projects and hustles from friends and acquaintances. What’s lovely is that you don’t need to be a champion baker to share your recipes or photos. You don’t need Paul Hollywood’s approval to start baking bread. It’s enough that you are trying, experimenting, and learning. And, at the end of the day, you don’t need to win Star Baker to feel proud about what you’ve created.
I know firsthand what it’s like to endeavor and sink like a stone. A couple of years ago, I decided to take a continuing education class to learn how to play the ukulele. The only musical instrument experience I had was taking piano lessons during my elementary school time (I dreaded practicing piano). My husband, on the other hand, is very musically gifted and can play the piano and guitar beautifully. I figured that learning the ukulele would be exciting and not super challenging. As someone who usually picks up new skills fairly easily, I felt pretty confident going into the class.
Upon actually taking the class, I quickly realized that I was way out of my league. There were people who already knew how to read music, who played similar instruments, or who had dabbled in ukulele playing in the past. I was like a deer in headlights. I was trying to figure out how to strum, move my other hand, figure out the chords, and even properly hold the darn ukulele. Everyone around me seemed to be picking it up easily or progressing at least, and I was floundering. I was so frustrated with myself. I despised that this wasn’t something that came naturally or remotely easily to me. As a late-20-something-year-old woman, I had the embarrassing feeling of wanting to actually cry in a ukulele continuing education class.
At home, I took my practicing seriously. I made lots of notes, watched helpful YouTube videos, and reread my class lessons. During these frustrating practice sessions, my sweet, sweet husband would come into the room, pick up the ukulele (which he had never played), and start easily playing my chicken-scratch-marked music sheets. This made me almost lose my mind, but I also understood that music is a strength for him. I also had the realization that I would never be a great (or probably even moderately good) ukulele player, and that this notion was surprisingly okay.
By the end of the class (which I stuck with, thank you very much), I could play some basic songs and that ended up being enough for me. I didn’t need to be the person showing up to the beach with my ukulele to play. I had tried something totally outside of my comfort zone, learned a lot, and persevered even when it would have been easy to quit. I also was proud of what I had accomplished. It was a bit like learning a new language. Was I going to be able to have an intellectual conversation? No. Could I order the musical equivalent of a beer or ask where the restroom was? Yes.
I knew that I would never be an all-star at playing the ukulele (or probably any instrument to be honest), yet I stuck with it. I knew I would never be the best in the class or probably go on to take more advanced classes, but I still showed up each week. Like the Vonnegut story above, being good was not the point of me learning ukulele. It was the experience of learning something new, of pushing myself, of meeting new people, and of acknowledging that I’m not awesome at some things, and that’s perfectly acceptable. Did I keep playing ukulele? No. Do I regret taking the class? Not one bit.
Whatever you are working on or learning right now, remember that trying alone is enough. It’s enough to show up and participate, and if you fail or you’re never going to win awards, no sweat. It’s easy to continue to do the things in which we excel. It’s much harder to fight the uphill battle to become sufficient at the things that are difficult for us. I’d always rather try things and fail than win by playing it safe all the time. I hope that you all keep pursuing whatever crafts or hobbies are calling to you, and I hope that you keep in mind that it’s more about the journey than the destination. That being said, if you ever need a ukulele player for a future event, please look elsewhere.
*Originally posted 12/15/2020*
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