For the longest time, the first thing I’d notice about any finished piece of art I’d made, be it something crocheted, sewn, hot glued, or written, were the mistakes.
Sixty-thousand perfectly perfect words in a novel, and I’d fixate on the two errors I found after publishing. Never mind that I’d given six months to a year over to the story, laughing, crying, feeling all the emotions right along with my characters. Never mind how much I loved the cover, or how many times readers told me they loved it. All I could see were those two errors.
I’ve been sewing for years, since my daughters were just tiny. Little dresses, blankets, Halloween costumes, Ren Faire garb. Mostly passable outcomes, too. Yet when people would compliment me on my son’s Captain Jack Sparrow or Mad Hatter costume, I’d cringe and say thanks, but look right there, I made a mistake on that part. I don’t know why I could never seem to say thanks, and then stop my mouth from running on. Or just enjoy the fact that the costume was obviously recognizable, which meant I’d done a decent enough job on it.
I can spend months crocheting an enormous blanket, and when it’s finished I can zero right in on the place I made one teeny error. One missed stitch. One half-double stitch where there should’ve been a double. Then every time I look at it, that’s all I can see. Literally thousands of perfect stitches, but all I can see is the one I messed up on.
I’ve really been working on not making self-deprecating remarks about myself or my work over the last year. Breaking that habit is hard. Being funny comes easily to me, and making fun of myself is even easier. I can find all sorts of things about myself to laugh at. Part of this is pointing out to others all the ways I am not good enough, and that includes my art. I don’t know where this knee-jerk reaction ever came from to begin with, but sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it until someone else points it out. Whether I’m throwing shade at my clothes, hair, or size; my books, shawls or blankets I’ve crocheted, clothes or costumes I’ve sewn, or what have you, I realized a while ago that every time I do this, I’m laughing on the outside but it cements the idea in my own head that I’ll never measure up to other people’s expectations. As a person who struggles with anxiety and depression, it’s just not a healthy thing to do to myself.
The first thing I worked at doing was learning to accept a compliment, which is for some idiotic reason really difficult for me. Sometimes now I say thanks and then actually have to bite my tongue in order to refrain from making some smart ass comment about myself. But at least I’ve made some improvement in that arena.
It’s even harder for me to be proud of my books. I’ve really been trying to accept compliments at face value. Sometimes I screenshot them so I can re-read them later when I feel like I lack any writing talent at all. It makes a difference. Recently, I’ve been trying a new tactic, and have been re-reading my own book series and instead of searching for any errors that might be in them, I’ve been making a point to focus on everything I got right. Those words that came together to make a beautiful, poignant mental picture. The emotions. I feel like I’ve been making some progress in this area, because I’ve actually been enjoying them. Like… really enjoying them.
This week, I tore apart some old peasant skirts and repurposed them into a frock-style coat of different colors and patterns. It’s funky, but it suits me, I think. I’ve got some events I’m planning to wear it to, and if nobody else likes it, that’s fine. Because I am happy with how it turned out. I made it – no pattern. I made it, by myself, from an idea I had one day. I made it, I like it, and because of that, it has value, even if there are a couple of mistakes in it.
Mistakes happen. That’s part of life. It doesn’t mean the attempt is worthless. It means I did something I enjoyed, something I wanted to try, something that brought me a bit of sunshine as I worked on it.
There’s only one way to consistently avoid mistakes, and that’s to never try.
What a waste that would be.
What a loss of joy, of creativity, of education, of community, of art, of new beginnings.
What a waste of possibility. We’ve gotten it all backwards, I think.
It’s not perfection we should strive for. It’s the journey we take when we make something new. That’s the thing that matters most.