Pen to Paper

Specialization is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, specializing in an obscure but necessary field is a pretty sure-fire way to get a big salary. Look at successful programmers, doctors, or scientists. It seems like most “leaders in their field” reached that point by doing one thing and doing it well.

On the other hand, this sort of specialization comes with a relative loss. Unlike the scientists in prime-time television, in real life most top level scientists are single-subject experts. The expert aerospace physicist doesn’t design his own rocket fuel, the chemistry expert does. An archeologist specializing in Judeo-Christian religious iconography doesn’t translate lost Mayan tablets (sorry, Indy).

At the top level, this isn’t that big of a deal. After all, the physicist doesn’t need to design rocket fuel when he can hire a rocket fuel expert to do it better. Itzhak Perlman doesn’t play every instrument at once, he plays his violin while Yo-Yo Ma plays his cello, and the result is magnificent. But this way of thinking has permeated society to such a degree that we let it keep us from activities we are perfectly capable of doing.

How many times have you heard (or said) something like this: “I don’t play basketball, I’m a runner.” “I don’t sing, Pam’s the musician of the family.” “I’m a writer, not an artist.” Even “She cooks, and I do the dishes,” is a symptom of low-level specialization. And before you think I’m trying to imply I’m above all this, those examples (or something very close) are all things I’ve said myself.

When we’re children, we don’t think this way. It’s perfectly reasonable for a child to plan on being a basketball playing-doctor-soldier-policeman who fights aliens and explores ancient temples. And, while it may not be reasonable for an adult to think they can be paid to do all that, I do think we can diversify more than we normally do.

Last night, I spent a while drawing. Were the results greatness, bound for gallery walls? Nope. Was it as good as something my old roommate, an art teacher, could dash out in 15 minutes? Not even close. But was I happy with the results? Given my expectations for myself, I’d go so far as to say I was surprised by how good it was.

I was even more surprised by how much fun I had in the process. For so long I’ve fallen into the trap of thinking, “I’m a writer, not an artist. I don’t even want to be an artist. Leave that to the artsy-types.”  When I stopped comparing myself to artists who’ve been drawing for most of their lives and are professionals, I was able to enjoy making my own scratchings – and I’m planning on coming back to the drawing pad again.

I’d encourage you to try something new this week. Maybe that means making something in the kitchen, or picking up a guitar or harmonica, or sitting down at a piano, or doodling on the back of a grocery list, or taking a few pictures. Whatever you do, don’t compare the results to someone years of experience, or a freakish amount of God-given talent. That’ll just discourage you. Instead, judge the results by a much more subjective standard: “Did I have fun?”

If the answer’s yes, maybe you’ll decide to de-specialize, just a little.

 I came across a couple links to a lecture by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, at this year’s TED talks.  You can watch it here (and I recommend you do).

Her main point is that it’s unfair and stressful, even depressing, to label someone as a “creative genius.” She explains how in the past, the genius was regarded as something separate from the artist, and the benefits to this point of view. I think that her message is important, but I’m more encouraged by the implications of one of her illustrations.

Gilbert describes sitting down to write and essentially having a meeting with her creative genius. Her point is that sometimes the genius doesn’t show up for the meeting; I think a corollary to this is that the successful artists are those who show up every time that the genius does. Of course, to guarantee this, you’ll have to show up all the times that the genius does not, too. In fact, it’s probably best to show up every day for a wide window of time, in case your genius is running late or misreads his calendar.

You’d probably refer to this habit as “self-discipline.” It’s a quality I tend to struggle with.  I’m getting better at it, though. It helps to have people who are successful at harnessing their creative genius (like Elizabeth Gilbert, Stephen King, the How To Make Webcomics team, and others) pounding that point into my head over and over.

For today, though, it’s encouraging just to hear that I don’t have to be a genius. It’s enough to tap into one.

Last week, I was involved in a heated discussion.  Not an argument, really – everyone involved was going for the same goal, the same ideal.  The interesting thing was the topic of the conversation.  I mean, who’d have thought we could get worked up about Rob Bell?

I thought the dynamic of the conversation was curious.  One of us, who’d just seen a Numa video for the first time, was vehement.  He’s convinced that Bell is a heretic whose ministry is destructive to Christianity, dangerously misleading, and harmful to any sort of theological discussion in society.  Next to him was a guy who wasn’t necessarily a fan of Rob Bell, but thought that the Numa videos and questions that Bell asks are good discussion starters even if they’re not answers in and of themselves.  And then there was me. I wouldn’t say I’m an all-out fanboy for Bell, but I find myself agreeing with him a fair amount of the time.

The words “heretic” and “heresy” were thrown around a lot, directed at Rob Bell by my friend, and at myself by me.

What struck me was how fulfilling the experience was.  All three of us agreed about the main point, the main thing, but still could have different viewpoints and approaches to the single topic.  We could talk aggressively and quickly, getting worked up, and still be good friends.  We were not just talking about pop culture or giving sound bite snippets of our day-to-day happenings.  We were communicating, seeking after Truth – Truth about Rob Bell, Truth about ourselves, Truth about God, Truth about The Way Things Are.

It was enriching.

My friend Phil started calling me a heretic four years ago.  I’ve claimed the title for my own, since then.  For me, having the textbook answer isn’t so important.

Instead, I love sitting down (or standing, or working behind a coffee bar) with someone and finding our common ground, the basis that we can agree on, and moving from there.  I believe that while the “right” answers may or may not come up this way, Truth is such a powerful, irrestible force that when you honestly and openly pursue it, can’t help but come out.

Maybe that way of thinking is heresy.  Maybe not.  I’d love to talk about it over a cup of coffee.

I generally don’t plan very far ahead.  For example, I’m going to Chicago for a convention this weekend.  I found out about this convention last Thursday, decided to go Friday, bought a ticket yesterday, and finalized where I’ll be staying tonight.  Not entirely spontaneous – that would mean not making any decision till the first day of the convention.  But not planned our far in advance.  If I were my father, this would have been in the books last January.

It’s hard trying to find a balance between chaotic spontaneity and locked-down over-planning.  Different events have different balances, too, complicating the matter.  Most weddings plans begin forming at least months (and sometimes years) in advance.  On the other hand, most of my meals aren’t decided until the day of (if then).  It’s easy to see that a marriage ceremony and lunch at Panera Bread are at opposite ends of the spectrum.  But how do you decide how much planning is necessary?

One of my track coaches had a phrase he liked to pound into us: Preparation, Performance, Poise.  Preparation referred to our workouts, diet, sleep, and everything else leading up to a race.  Performance, obviously, was the race itself.  Poise referred to the way we carried ourselves before, during, and after the race; in other words, our character.  Having this drilled into me over and over on the track trained me to apply this thinking to all of life.

The standard of adequate preparation is rather hazy.  I think it is incredibly relative.  How much preparation is enough but not too much?  If you can answer ‘yes’ to the question, “Am I prepared?” then you’re ready.  Note: this does not mean that you are ready to meet some arbitrary standard, or that you will perform with a high degree of success.  It simply means that you have prepared enough for your personal goals that you aren’t wasting energy worrying, and you aren’t causing yourself undue stress by over-thinking and excess preparation.  Personally, I like to rehearse the event in my head.  If I come up with obstacles that I haven’t already planned for or don’t think I can handle on the fly, I have more preparation to do.  If everything runs smoothly in my mind, then I’m good to go.

Performance is the culmination of all the preparations.  Society has developed many ways of describing it: “On the night,” “D-Day,” “Game Day,” “Go-time,” and more.  I believe that if you have properly and adequately prepared, the performance should be a relaxed event.  I don’t mean that there is no intensity, no effort, no emotion – any athlete or entertainer will tell you that performing well requires a high level of effort.  Rather, the performance should not be filled with stress and worry about “Am I ready?”  You should be able to relax and trust in your preparation.

A word should be said about proper goal-setting (a subject for its own post, but worth mentioning here).  Setting the right goals can make a large difference in the level of preparation required.  When I ran my first marathon earlier this year, my goals were to finish and have fun.  Because of this, I had a much lower level of preparation than if I were aiming for a specific time or trying to qualify for a major marathon.  And in the end, I met my goals and had a great time in the process.

The final aspect, poise, is often overlooked.  My coach always emphasized that good sportsmanship and carrying ourselves with dignity after a race was just as important as the race itself.  I think this can be expanded to your character throughout life.  In all of the preparations and performances you go through, people are judging your character.  Russell Crowe delivers amazing performances, but his temper and grating character off-screen are legendary.  The glowing bride may look angelic walking down the aisle, but her maid-of-honor know what a demon she’s been for the past five months.  The man in the next cubicle may make everyone laugh, but never deliver his part of a project.  On the other hand, I’m sure you know someone who always seems confidently relaxed, carrying their weight and helping those around them.  This last person embodies poise.

Preparation, Performance, Poise.  Three simple concepts.  Together, though, they make for less stressful and more successful life.

The least significant, off-the-cuff, throwaway comments can set off a wild chain of thoughts, if you let them.  It’s happened to me twice tonight.

To a degree, this can be a good thing.  “The unexamined life is not worth living,” after all.  To take a moment, step back, and examine our actions can help us reevaluate our goals and whether our current course will lead us to them.  The next step, though, must always be to move back into action.  The driver who pulls off to the side of the road to check his map must eventually put it back in the glove box and return to the road.  Perpetual self-examination leads only to perpetual non-motion.

For too long I’ve been stuck in the mental phase – the brainstorming, goal-setting, course-plotting mindset.  Now I want to drop myself into gear and move forward.  I want to leave this place of safety and security and press out into the wilderness, towards the dreams I have glimpsed on the horizon.

Will you come with me?  Will you help me make a path through the wild and the dark unknown?

Adventure is calling.