I finished it, and it felt great to complete. I produced something.
Frankly, it inspired me to keep going. I got that little jolt of dopamine reward that helped solidify my enjoyment of something I had avoided for a while.
What was the monumental completion of my life?
The other day, I finished drawing a picture for my wife.
Producing for the Wife
No, the above image was not what I drew for her. I spent some time drawing some orchids in a bowl and gave it to her for her birthday. Thankfully, she didn't clench her teeth in a smile and say, "Oh, that's so great….let's put it on the fridge for a couple days…" only for me to find it in the trash the next day.
No, she actually liked it. Surprisingly enough.
And I was grateful for her response and acceptance of an odd gift for her birthday. Most women just want a vacuum or a new dish rack...amiright?
But, at the risk of sounding a little cliché and cheesy: I gained a much greater gift from the experience.
Okay, that might be a bit of hyperbole. However, I'm being honest when I say that I did draw (pun intended?) something from the experience that helped me see my own actions in a new way.
Let me back up and start from the beginning and we'll give this lesson on producing some context.
My Fear of Producing Didn't Start Yesterday
I was born on June 24th….oh, not that far back? Okay, let's try again.
A few years ago, I took on a pretty monumental task, as requested by my wife. We have a bare wall above our piano that could use a little something. She wanted me to create a mural because for some reason she likes indistinguishable/abstract art. Abstract as in: did a 7-year-old or a 38-year-old produce it?
I swear, she tours kindergarten art displays as though she were at the Louvre in Paris.
Even though the project scared me—I said yes.
This meant taking on a 4 ft x 2 ft piece of paper and trying to figure out what to put on it. Do you want to test your mettle? Lay down a blank paper on your kitchen table and tell yourself you're going to fill it. And by the way, it'll be on display for every person who sits in our living room. Which, thankfully, not many do.
(We need friends.)
A few years ago, I fell away from the massive mural. It sits lightly rolled on top of our bookcase in my office. I've put about 18 or so hours into it and let it sit. Now, it collects dust and shame. Producing it seemed out of my league.
Producing Value Today
Fast forward to this orchid project that I just completed for her, and I found a bit of a spark. You see, I had a bit of an epiphany before determining that I WOULD finish this orchid project I started for her a few months ago.
My life with art, whether drawing, writing, or music has revolved around objective standards of ability. If I couldn't be producing the best product possible, why bother? After all, someone else could blow me away with their talent and abilities, so my pursuit must be useless and perhaps even a little embarrassing.
We all see the twisted thinking in that. So twisted, that one might wonder whether I took a heavy hit to the side of the head recently.
For the record, not recently. I've only had 5? 3? 7? or was it 2 concussions? It'll come back to me.
Why would a grown man fear artwork? Because I must have Sportaldislexicartaphobia (yes it's a real thing.)
Fearing Producing
Alright, I'm stalling. Here goes: I held a fear of producing pieces of work because I placed such emphasis on doing my best work. Typically, starting a project meant stressing that it had to be better than the last one I did. I didn't want to screw it up. Something in me decided that whatever I produce has to be objectively good, or else it is a complete failure.
Tied into that was the realization that deep down, I feared people determining I was just not that good at something.
It's funny: doing some drawing on my pad would stress me out, to the point that I stopped doing it. Talk about a wrong heart.
Today, we are inundated with people who have insane genetics, talents, skills, abilities, and minds. Billions of pieces of content are constantly being posted to social media, and we are buried under an avalanche of quality work.
My mindset shifted to: why bother starting if I can't be the best?
Worse yet, nestled into that was the fear that if I actually tried, I would have to admit to myself that I was not the best at producing something. Every failure or mistake reminded me of that.
As I look back, I realize that every stroke of my pencil or pen carried the oppressive weight of "Don't screw this up."
What a horrible way to not just create, but to live.
I Used to Love Producing Art
When I was a kid, I loved to draw. I used to draw all the time. I created countless World War II battles in which millions of stick figures lost their lives halting evil as it crept across the 2-dimensional realm of my paper. I designed tons of jets and airplanes (give me a call Boeing. I might be able to help solve your issues.) I drew people, things, logos, and animals. You name it, I was probably drawing it. But at some point, I relegated myself to doodling during class and never set my energies to any dedicated projects.
I left school and the doodles died. (That's gotta be a song lyric or something.)
Completing my wife's orchid opened me up a little bit to creatively producing. Mostly because I was determined to take a different approach. Do it because I can. Enjoy it because it's creation. Produce because there's more value in it than consuming. (It's better to give than to receive…)
Most of all, take failure with a light, open hand.
I needed to reiterate this lesson to myself because for some reason teaching it to my son didn't help it stick in my own head.
My Son and Producing Art
My seven-year-old loves to draw. He typically draws something to do with hockey, but he does it every day. Some days, he gets frustrated because the hockey goalie he drew doesn't look as good as the last one.
I explained to him that each picture drawn teaches you something. And you will produce plenty of projects that you don't feel are your best. You'll recognize where you failed. But all of those projects are practice and are worth it to produce.
I assured him, that over a long enough period, his art will get better and he'll enjoy looking back at how he's grown.
Taking my Own Advice on Producing
Perhaps I'm finally learning to take my own advice. The joy of creation should not be relegated to purely objective standards. We owe it to ourselves and others to enjoy producing for the sake of production. We should allow ourselves to learn and develop, but in the end: is the production for the sake of creation, or to attempt to get a result?
If we purely look for a certain pay-off, then we strangle the enjoyment. We look to the pay-off as the reward, as opposed to the process. In fact, you'll probably get more gratification out of those hobbies that DO NOT pay off with money, attention, or recognition.
So by all means, enjoy creation. Enjoy those hobbies that have no "reward system" attached to them.
And for goodness sake, when you create: laugh at yourself. That way you can beat the rest of us to the punch.
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