A Love Letter to the Average
My grandma, the love of my life told me to stop pointing out what I was bad at.
You know the conversation, where someone asks you if you’d like to play tennis or go play pub trivia or do axe throwing or anything in which skill assessment is inevitable.
This is what I do:
“I’m bad at sports.”
“I have a terrible memory.”
“I am not very good at axe throwing.”
“Stop telling people what you’re bad at. They don’t need to know,” wise words from a wise Grandma.
One thing I am good at? Self-deprecation.
The kids I spent the majority of my day with for 12 years or so (i.e. vicious elementary school kids) pointed out all of my flaws daily, sometimes in songs. My self-esteem went down. I wasn’t in plays. I wasn’t in sports. I was in band, but I wasn’t even “first chair.”
I didn’t do anything but write poems in battered notebooks because I thought whatever I did, I would fail.
Writing allows me space to create without anyone watching. It’s just me, the computer, and my geriatric boston terrier, unless I am at work and then, yes, someone might literally stand over my shoulder as I write. When I fail at creative writing, no one knows but me and a random editor I have never met.
Improvements
On the wall in my office are two paintings I painted at those get-drunk-and-paint events. I put them up not because I think they’re “good,” but because I have fond memories of painting (and drinking).
I like the feeling of putting paint on canvas. I enjoyed the company. I completed a project that was outside of my comfort zone. I put them on the wall because they show a modest improvement from the first to the second.
So many of the women at both classes were down-talking themselves and then talking up those obvious perfectionists and artists. And of course, everyone gathered around to admire the “best in class” paintings and of course, mine wasn’t one of them.
But that’s OK.
It’s OK to be average, Americans.
It’s OK to enjoy an activity and not end up a superstar. It’s OK to write or paint or sing and not make a dime off of it. It’s OK to be horrendous at karaoke, but sing your heart out and you don’t have to apologize beforehand.
Montessori Mindset
I read a Montessori parenting book and have adopted “I can improve” as my mindset. The Montessori method involves letting your kids just do activities and focus on the process, not the outcome. I want to show my daughter that she should do what she enjoys and not to worry so much about perfection. She can let loose and be silly and be a complete and utter book-obsessed, fish-obsessed, tangled-hair weirdo, the way I was and I’d still love her every bit and encourage her to try new things, without assuming she had to win a blue ribbon.
Parenthood is a competition from the moment a child is born. Is she latching? Is she rolling over? Is she conjugating Spanish verbs into the past participle? Some of the comparison comes from making sure the child is hitting important developmental milestones, but after the first few years, it’s all competition.
“Your kid can’t recite all of the 45 presidents yet? Little Lexi has been doing that since she was one!”
Can’t they just be?
I wrote a story awhile back and now it’s shortlisted in a flash fiction contest. I know it’s good because I almost couldn’t stop writing it, just like that feeling when you can’t stop reading.
I take great pleasure and joy in writing. My success might be getting published or it might be a positive word from a friend or it might be a slight improvement from one story to the next.
