Close Behind
A friend told me about a study that was done with two classes teaching the same pottery course; given an assignment that involved the construction of pots but vastly different objectives given to each class.
One class was told to build (is that the right verb?) a pot of the greatest quality and the best composition, they would all be graded on this individual pot and were only allowed to submit one pot each person. A whole boatload of marks based on this single creation.
The other class however was told to build as many pots as they possibly could, not worrying about the quality but rather the quantity. The more pots made, the more points earned - it was simple enough.
The class which was told to construct as many pots as possible turned out to produce better quality works than that of the first class, which was only instructed to focus all their energy and effort on a single pot. This probably gave way to an incredible amount of overthinking and unnecessary stress to obtain perfection. After all, their whole mark depended on this single pot.
But it turns out that the people who were instructed to simply produce and create with no prior expectations or standards ended up with the better pots, the greater art. They weren't worried about judgment or perfection, they pursued completion and something concrete that they could actually work with. It makes me wonder how many times they stopped to admire their work or if they even did; it takes courage to focus on the process rather than the finished piece.
I have this hobby of daydreaming about future scenarios and events in the coming years; like a friend's long-awaited 19th birthday party and God-willing, a fellow brother's marriage. Occasions that I know will not only be highlights of the following decade but of my life in general! I spend plenty of time creating stories and narratives in my head that stay exactly where they are created - my dreams.
As the years go on, and as I turned from this boy who always wanted to play ball on the court behind Frost Road with Fleetwood friends to someone who wants to go somewhere quiet to simply write, I'm beginning to actually see the substantial changes in my life. New directions that I am only starting to recognize and even more so, follow.
Walking with the wind rather than against it, walking to the shore rather than deeper into the waters; a place that I know isn't where I belong.
The only antidote to curing my desires to isolate myself is doing the complete opposite; dwelling in the safety of company and people who have seen me walk against the wind and still stood by me. Waded into the water beside me, sat cross-legged in the darkness as I laid on the carpet of my thoughts.
Parked car conversations, study room sessions at 1 am on a Monday night, windows rolled down with the breeze of 168th filling the air. The absence of words but the presence of a love that doesn't need poetry to be expressed; the stanzas are in the sounds of laughter, the rhymes in the gleam of a smile.
If you've contributed to these moments, I am grateful.
You taught me to focus on the small, precious moments of daily life rather than the extravagant future goals and accomplishments that I so often get caught up in.
The spontaneous texts of, "what's the move?" or "link somewhere in Guildford" at literally 10 pm in the evening on a school night will never get old. You know who you are. There's obviously been moments where I get absolutely burned by my parents the next morning but there's also always been moments where they're just happy for me to be home and back from a fun night out with my home away from home.
They know when I'm need of good company and I secretly think that they're grateful whenever I do go out, because it saves me from wallowing in my bed and listening to the same song for a couple of hours. It's always around this time of the year that the amount of "moves" piles up and recently, I am so glad it has because truth be told, I am clingy to my friends.
Through the last few weeks they've taught me to live life one day at a time, one timeless moment after another.
This post was definitely not intended to be this lengthy but maybe now that it's super long, there's a probably a few decent sentences that resemble something profound and worthwhile.
It's funny how simply doing something over and over and over again actually isn't insane but rather productive! Yeah I'll probably blurt out a few crappy blog posts at times but I might also pop out that golden egg of a post which I'll be super proud of and which will make every other blog post before that even more valuable!
Whether you're a writer too or a musician, a student, a dancer, or even just someone trying to get by; take it one sentence, one verse, one assignment, one moment at a time. Don't get caught up in the lie that for something to be worthwhile it has to be perfect because that is simply not true. What makes something worthwhile is the amount of effort and work put into it; a novel written after going through 10 drafts, 4 editors and 3 relatives who did not like the story at all but couldn't stop it from being published. And sold to thousands of readers. And inspiring another person to write a story of their own.
You can never know where the process leads but with persistence and dedication, you'll find exactly (and perhaps even more than) what you were looking for.
One table with a single, regular-looking pot sitting on its surface, another table with 49 horrible looking pots.
And a lone, wondrous pot easily found in the midst of the clutter.
totus tuus
One class was told to build (is that the right verb?) a pot of the greatest quality and the best composition, they would all be graded on this individual pot and were only allowed to submit one pot each person. A whole boatload of marks based on this single creation.
The other class however was told to build as many pots as they possibly could, not worrying about the quality but rather the quantity. The more pots made, the more points earned - it was simple enough.
The class which was told to construct as many pots as possible turned out to produce better quality works than that of the first class, which was only instructed to focus all their energy and effort on a single pot. This probably gave way to an incredible amount of overthinking and unnecessary stress to obtain perfection. After all, their whole mark depended on this single pot.
But it turns out that the people who were instructed to simply produce and create with no prior expectations or standards ended up with the better pots, the greater art. They weren't worried about judgment or perfection, they pursued completion and something concrete that they could actually work with. It makes me wonder how many times they stopped to admire their work or if they even did; it takes courage to focus on the process rather than the finished piece.I have this hobby of daydreaming about future scenarios and events in the coming years; like a friend's long-awaited 19th birthday party and God-willing, a fellow brother's marriage. Occasions that I know will not only be highlights of the following decade but of my life in general! I spend plenty of time creating stories and narratives in my head that stay exactly where they are created - my dreams.
As the years go on, and as I turned from this boy who always wanted to play ball on the court behind Frost Road with Fleetwood friends to someone who wants to go somewhere quiet to simply write, I'm beginning to actually see the substantial changes in my life. New directions that I am only starting to recognize and even more so, follow.
Walking with the wind rather than against it, walking to the shore rather than deeper into the waters; a place that I know isn't where I belong.
The only antidote to curing my desires to isolate myself is doing the complete opposite; dwelling in the safety of company and people who have seen me walk against the wind and still stood by me. Waded into the water beside me, sat cross-legged in the darkness as I laid on the carpet of my thoughts.
Parked car conversations, study room sessions at 1 am on a Monday night, windows rolled down with the breeze of 168th filling the air. The absence of words but the presence of a love that doesn't need poetry to be expressed; the stanzas are in the sounds of laughter, the rhymes in the gleam of a smile.
If you've contributed to these moments, I am grateful.
You taught me to focus on the small, precious moments of daily life rather than the extravagant future goals and accomplishments that I so often get caught up in.
The spontaneous texts of, "what's the move?" or "link somewhere in Guildford" at literally 10 pm in the evening on a school night will never get old. You know who you are. There's obviously been moments where I get absolutely burned by my parents the next morning but there's also always been moments where they're just happy for me to be home and back from a fun night out with my home away from home.
They know when I'm need of good company and I secretly think that they're grateful whenever I do go out, because it saves me from wallowing in my bed and listening to the same song for a couple of hours. It's always around this time of the year that the amount of "moves" piles up and recently, I am so glad it has because truth be told, I am clingy to my friends.
Through the last few weeks they've taught me to live life one day at a time, one timeless moment after another.
This post was definitely not intended to be this lengthy but maybe now that it's super long, there's a probably a few decent sentences that resemble something profound and worthwhile.
It's funny how simply doing something over and over and over again actually isn't insane but rather productive! Yeah I'll probably blurt out a few crappy blog posts at times but I might also pop out that golden egg of a post which I'll be super proud of and which will make every other blog post before that even more valuable!
Whether you're a writer too or a musician, a student, a dancer, or even just someone trying to get by; take it one sentence, one verse, one assignment, one moment at a time. Don't get caught up in the lie that for something to be worthwhile it has to be perfect because that is simply not true. What makes something worthwhile is the amount of effort and work put into it; a novel written after going through 10 drafts, 4 editors and 3 relatives who did not like the story at all but couldn't stop it from being published. And sold to thousands of readers. And inspiring another person to write a story of their own.
You can never know where the process leads but with persistence and dedication, you'll find exactly (and perhaps even more than) what you were looking for.
One table with a single, regular-looking pot sitting on its surface, another table with 49 horrible looking pots.
And a lone, wondrous pot easily found in the midst of the clutter.
totus tuus
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