The Quiet Courage of Beginning Again
Beginning feels vulnerable. The unknown, the projected confidence that doesn’t have a proof of concept yet. There’s nothing to draw on or remember; there are no mistakes to give me next steps. I’m starting from scratch, and I notice how exposed that makes me feel.
Beginning also comes with getting solicited and unsolicited advice, which we all know either works great or, more often, not. I hope I’m not the only one, but starting over feels easier. You have some data points and practice to give your task another go; you're no longer going in blind, and I can learn from my mistakes.
This happened this past holiday: I was trying a new-to-me macaron recipe. I was making the chocolate ganache filling, and I dropped the bowl!! I had no idea what I was doing going into this cookie adventure, so dropping that bowl, with liquid chocolate flying in every direction, was shocking and a little mortifying.
I learned a few things. Don’t work on the edge of my counter, AND let’s not use the immersion blender to emulsify the chocolate. I switched to a safe silicone spatula and took my time. Starting over was not in the plan, and I’m so glad I got to do it again and finish my macarons for Christmas dinner with family.
Sometimes, starting over can have big emotions, just like starting anew. I am my own worst critic. I notice how quickly I worry: Will I be seen as unprofessional if I have to start again? Will the people around me support me through a redo? The unknown, and how many times I’ll have to start over, can be daunting.
Each time I restart, I’m learning. I am learning to get closer to my desired effect or ending. I’m also learning who will stay by my side as we figure things out. In many ways, I’m finding my people. The process of starting over is humbling and a good reminder to pause or slow down. It’s the process here that counts, even when I wish I could skip to the finished part.
In my experience, it has never been a waste of time to try and fail and try again and gain success, though having some boundaries for my nervous system has been helpful. I give myself three tries with most things I want to accomplish. Painting, I give two tries because that’s what my materials limit me to.
If I can’t get it, or the task just isn’t clicking, I throw it away and release the idea, which still feels tender sometimes. It may come back once I’ve learned more skills, but for now it’s not for me. This is an important concept for me: I can walk away. It is an artistic decision to walk away!
To feel better, I often do a pros and cons list, which helps show how close or far off I was in my pursuit of a particular end in sight. Pro and con lists help guide me through a rough patch in all areas of my life. It helps me see if something was a waste of time or just a few steps away from success, and it softens my judgment so I’m not too hard on myself.
To bring this back to art: time spent trying something new is never truly wasted. Learning is lifelong. Collect those data points. Be gentle with yourself. Take breaks as needed. You don’t need to push through, and I don’t either. Exploration can turn into play, and I might even learn to enjoy the process of failing, feeling, and trying again.
Tell me in the comments, are you starting something new, or starting something over this year?