Day 50: Success, Failure and Other Synonyms

I have arrived today, extra tired, but pen-in-hand. However, I feel a bit anxious about writing because my last published piece about our SNOVID day was so (relatively) successful. I think its rawness moved people, and it basically poured out of me in one long stream of consciousness rant because I had so much to say. 

But I recognize that some days, like today, that will not happen. Although I have ideas of what to write about, no topic feels as urgent as it did last week. 

Plus, I now feel the weight of expectation for my writing to be, well, good. Or interesting or at the very least, readable, and that feels heavy.

Because here's the thing about doing something every day for an entire year: it's not always going to be pretty. It's not always going to be neat, tidy and wrapped up in a bow. 

In fact, way more often than not, it will blow pretty hard. My attempts will sound boring, self indulgent, navel-gazing or off-base. 

But I must whole-heartedly give myself permission to absolutely suck at this. 

In fact, I will make it mandatory for myself to go through the process of writing, publishing and sharing anyway. This year is about practice for me, building a writing practice and finding the time for it, figuring out the bends and contours of how it fits into my life.  

I will practice in the hopes that my writing will get better, my stamina will increase, my voice will become clearer and stronger. But I also seek to inure myself to failure, to get comfortable with showing up, dressing out (in this case, that means wearing my pjs and propping up on a yoga bolster in bed), and leaving it all on the field and just to lose spectacularly. 

I need to spend most of the time trying and losing at this, every single day, enough times that I start to feel a little bit brave. 

Because if the worst that happens is having nothing to write, feeling insecure, producing something terrible, meandering or unreadable, having others tell me it's crap, stupid, or a waste of time, that is all ok with me. The stakes in trying and failing are not so high. All those eventualities seem both tolerable and inevitable as I continue to put myself out there. They seem, in fact, necessary for learning.

In my classroom, we practice writing new words by hearing the tiny sounds, (“last,” “stump,” those pre-consonantal nasals are super tricky!) or making groups of 10 by moving one over from a partner of 9. All of these activities reflect complex and multistep processes, especially if you must translate each steps into another language and back again in your brain before responding. 

So, before checking each answer I say, “I am happy if you got it wrong! So, so happy, because that means you are learning. It means you are trying something new, something hard, it shows your brain is making new synaptic connections and that is how learning happens!”

I know, and try to teach them, that always getting things right probably means you are not challenging yourself enough. The learning happens when you make those mistakes and put yourself out there. It happens on days when you have nothing to say and no energy to say it with, but you show up, put your pen to paper anyway and see what comes out. 

I was treated this week to an awe-inspiring song-writing session during Rebecca's piano lesson. See, she has been dancing around these four chords for a few weeks (Yes. She plays chards. I know. Amazing!) and it sounds like a strong beginning of something, really something. 

So, with her piano teacher's help, she began changing up the rhythm of the chords, trying to organically see what would develop. Then, he prompted her to sing over the chords, at first just melodic notes as she played and then eventually to pick a topic for her lyrics.

She free-wrote for two minutes on her topic—without pausing her pencil the entire time—and finally, she sang her words over the chords as she played. She used her own special inflections and learned about creating melodic tension by deviating from the notes in the chord. 

Bingo, the resultant song has been stuck in my head ever since. It is the first song Rebecca has ever formally composed and, while not yet complete, it is darn catchy.

I also read recently about the song We Don't Talk about Bruno, which has been stuck in my head and ditto for everyone in my family, judging by how often we all hum it. Yes, the song from Encanto. (I am going to need an Encanto tag on my blog, just as soon as I figure out how to tag posts on my blog.)

Apparently, Lin-Manuel Miranda composed it off the top of his head. He thought about the concept quietly for five minutes, then picked out four chords and BAM—a TikTok sensation was born. He also created a demo track of himself singing all eight parts or whatever, which has been only partially released but may sound something like this.

Now, LMM is obviously a genius, Rebecca was composing her first song ever and I have been engaged in my writing challenge for officially 50 days. But I think a through line exists: it takes process, it takes a ton of practice and it takes putting oneself out there bravely and consistently in order to experience success. 

I don't know what percentage of success in creative endeavors owes to some innate gift, (though I suspect it is about the same amount as my multilingual students innately knowing how to spell “plant” in English), but I do know you miss 100% of the shots you don't take. 

So, maybe my biggest fear must not be failing abjectly, writing something crappy or having nothing to say—as these are all guaranteed sometimes—but being too tired, bored or scared to say something at all. 

Maybe picking up my pen and writing every day is mostly an exercise in cultivating fearlessness.