The Wisdom of Knowing Where to Let Go and Where to Commit
In the car with a friend’s teen several years back, upon her recounting some sort of hypothetical situation and asking what we’d do, I gave whatever answer seemed natural to me. She laughed and said, “No way! That would be so not cool.”
To which I replied that I was unquestionably uncool, now and always, and that even though once upon a time I’d wished I were cool, I’d grown very comfortable in my not-cool-ness.
Lots less pressure on the uncool side of the fence, no?
Over time, I’ve also grown into a very easy acceptance of other stuff I’m not good at or suited for doing. Stuff I don’t have enough natural talent or innate drive to make getting good at realistic for the required exchange of effort. Especially when the effort would snatch me away from the things I enjoy, find fulfilling, and have (or so I imagine, anyway) a more natural talent for doing.
A while back I wrote a post about simple things I suck at doing. In revisiting it, I recognize that I am still terrible at these things. (One day, automatic dispensers will like me, though. One day.)
And when I muse on it a bit, I realize that there are many other things I may have wanted to do once upon a time, and perhaps even tried to do, but never could quite manage well enough to bother continuing:
Music: I tried piano, way back in the day. I hated playing the piano (as did everyone who suffered my attempts to play it). I enjoy music, but from the listening side. After my missed attempt at the piano bench, I decided to appreciate rather than play, going forward. I haven’t reneged on or regretted that decision even once.
Painting and drawing: I love the visual arts. Absolutely adore them. Painting, drawing, illustration, sculpture, you name it, I love experiencing it. In my youth, I took endless art classes and even won a few minor awards. Yet ultimately, my skill didn’t match my ambition. I decided to stay a fan in this field, too, and marvel at all the art—without inflicting my attempts on anyone (including myself).
Dancing: I love movement, but I’ve got no grace and no rhythm. I’ll groove alone or with an audience of one (my husband, who puts up with me), but I’ll pass on passing the hilarity to the greater public.
Poetry and short fiction: I can manage both, with better results in the latter than the former, though with far more effort and less enjoyment than makes sense for me, especially given how much I revel in crafting long work fiction.
Oh, there’s more. I could go on.
The gap between where I would need to get and where I started, combined with my level of enjoyment (or otherwise) in the activity eventually turned me off, even if having tried feels good.
But the point—such as there is a point to any of my rambling thoughts—is that I’ve found beauty and peace and freedom in trying whatever enchants me and in not feeling required to keep at it when I don’t love it and it doesn’t love me.
Getting older—and more experienced in this adventure of life—has its advantages.
Deciding not to pursue things that don’t light me up after I’ve tried them frees up time and energy and space for the things that I do love—the activities that make me happy and through which I feel I can bring my talents to the world and effectively engage with it.
Now that I don’t feel that I should pick up an instrument, say, even though I don’t enjoy making music and don’t have a natural talent, just because it seems like a well-rounded or cool thing to do—how much we do for exactly these reasons!—I can focus my energies on creating and improving my craft for long-form fiction writing. I can explore the world on foot via long and luxurious walks in the sunshine. I can take extra time each day to deepen my yoga practice. I can spend more time with precious friends and family.
This freedom circles me back to another earlier post, about the freedom we find when we choose to commit to people, activities, subjects, passions, maybe even things. In revisiting this post, written many years ago, its reflections resonate anew.
Sometimes, in letting certain things go and in committing to others, we create more space and generate more energy for what lights us up and brings our best selves to the world.