Finding the Joy: It's Okay to Fail
Since NaNoWriMo has wrapped up, I know a lot of you are grappling with a very common feeling in the arts: failure. While some of you probably made it to your goal (Congratulations!) the majority of folks who take on NaNo ultimately fall short of their intended word count. So if that’s you, be aware that you are in excellent company. Much as you might see folks posting about their success stories, know that there are even more in the same boat as you.
But today’s topic isn’t about NanoWriMo, specifically. Honestly, I’ve had a hard time putting a point on this concept precisely, maybe I’ll find a good thesis sentence along the way. What I want to talk about is the fact that whether you met your goals or not, or even how the work came out, probably doesn’t matter. And that’s a good thing.
We’ve touched on this before, however it really can’t be said too many times: the arts are not magic. You do not need to have some hidden gift that manifests the very first time you touch a page or stage. These are skills, the same as physical ones, you will probably start off very bad, with the truly gifted being less bad. Because everyone sucks at the start. Your favorite performer was dogshit the first time they tried to do a monologue in the mirror. Not showing talent out of the gate means literally nothing, improvement comes from work and practice, that’s what determines how good you can become.
However, that’s looking to the optimistic side of things, how good you can get. Actually succeeding at a career in the arts is another matter entirely. While being good absolutely does help, there are lots of other good folks out there too. Finding real success is often as much about marketing, project selection, and yes, luck, as the work itself. You absolutely can get better at whatever art you put your mind to, but that’s not the same as saying you’ll find fame or fiscal success down that path.
That seems like an obvious statement, yet more and more I’ve started to wonder. Watching the NaNo discussions, seeing people stress so hard about their personal projects, fighting with themselves on if they’re mentally ready for workshopping, and I feel compelled remind them… it’s okay to be bad at something, what matters is if you enjoy it.
Seriously. I know the digital age has moved us into this “endless hustle” mentality where everything has to be commodified into content, and I’m as guilty of that as anyone. I’ve turned several of my favorite hobbies into podcasts/streams/novellas through the years, and with probably more still to come. That said, not every activity needs to be for a crowd. Not every hobby has to build onto your known offerings. It’s okay to have some things that are only for you.
As usual, this is easier with examples: mine is that I love music. I’m tone-deaf and have no discernable taste, my playlists are a cycling mix of major hits and random shit, but I love it. If you’ve seen me at a convention, you might have noticed one of the things always near me are earphones. The moment I’m gone from the floor, or walking around the city, those bad boys are popped in, picking up wherever was left off. If I’m feeling stuck on a story, I’ll queue up some songs that get me in the headspace for the character or theme and go for a long walk. Music is a constant in my life, something I deeply enjoy.
Also, I have absolutely zero talent for it. As I said, tone-deaf, not to mention I can’t keep a beat to save my life. This sounds like I’m exaggerating a bit, so lets paint a picture with a 100% true anecdote: When I was in high school, we did the musical Oklahoma. During the run, for our school day performances, we had a main character (Curly) get ill and have to miss a full day. Since I was there as ensemble and had lots of stage practice by this point, I was tasked with learning the blocking and lines overnight. But what about the songs, you might be asking? Did they have me try and bumble through, or change up the tougher notes? Nope. They cut them. That’s right, every time Curly sings in Oklahoma, we just didn’t have the songs that day, and no one dissented; it was completely agreed to be the right choice. That’s how bad I am when it comes to music.
But here’s the big twist: I don’t give a shit that I’m bad. I mean, yes, I don’t sing around others or do karaoke because that’s borderline assault. That’s not what I get out of music anyway, though. To me, it’s never performative, I’m only ever singing for myself. Around the house, to my dog before he flees, while doing chores as the music blasts. Heck, anyone who watched Steve and I do the Adventure Brodeo could note that sometimes when I’m not paying attention, I’ll just start singing whatever we’re doing.
I love music, and I have if anything, negative talent for it, but that doesn’t matter because to me, the act of singing is the fun itself. I don’t need it commodified, I don’t care to have other people in the experience. It’s a personal joy, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re all allowed to have things we love and show little-to-no skill at. For some of you NaNoWriMo might have been a revelation that writing isn’t going to come as naturally as you thought, or that the road that comes after finishing a book is a harder hike than expected. It could leave you wondering if this is really the right way to spend your time.
Returning to what I said up-top, this is why how good you did at NaNo doesn’t really have to matter. Did you enjoy the act of writing, overall? Does it feel satisfying when progress is made? Would having an audience necessarily increase that joy, or potentially take away from it? You can enjoy the act of writing without trying to be a writer, can love a song and never touch a stage. If the act of creating or doing makes you happy, then chase that, even if it’s not a passion you expect to share with anyone else. The joy of creation is enough to justify the efforts you put in.
What do you know, looks like we found a solid thesis after all.