embrace the ugh

I mentioned about a month ago that I’ve been in the process of writing a book on amateurism. As part of my research, I’m trying many things: both as new endeavours, but also as a return to, or an evolution of, things I love to do.

And so, I’ve taken a 6-week pottery class.

I started a swimming practice.

And most recently, after practicing photography for over 25 years, I started teaching myself videography. And you know what my biggest learning might be?

I think I know why folks don’t try to learn new things.

At first, with each of these activities, I approached them with eagerness. With excitement. I was determined to attain if not mastery, certainly at least competency. But soon after I began each of these activities — I mean, almost immediately after — I considered stopping completely and never returning to them again.

To state the obvious, it turns out pottery, swimming and videography are hard. And doing hard things when you have no idea what you’re doing isn’t fun. Also, there’s more: in this life of mine, I’ve already accomplished really hard things, and I have the diplomas, certificates, and all other manner of evidence to prove it. Why in God’s name would I want to go through having to learn something new, again? What am I trying to prove, and to whom? And when I’m in this frame of mind, it’s easy to conflate “being difficult” with “I don’t like it.”

So my second biggest learning is that when I’m learning something new, I have to embrace the ugh — I have to accept that the uncomfortable feeling is part of the process. I need to realize that often at first, I haven’t captured enough data to determine if I hate something or not. That’s not to say that I’m going to love everything I try, but there’s usually a moment where there’s an infinitesimally small click — I can feel the right pressure to build the wall of my pot spinning on the wheel, or I figure out a more comfortable cadence of breathing when I swim, say — when there’s a sudden tiny sense of euphoria or triumph that makes me believe that I might be able to do it after all. And until I get to that click, I can’t make an honest assessment of whether what I’m trying is worth doing.

It’s sort of like having to deal with the prickly part of an aloe vera plant before you can get to the soothing aloe inside.

So for the coming week, I wish for us the experience of trying something new, and remembering to embrace the ugh. Because sometimes that tiny sense of triumph is all we need as evidence of everything we’re capable of.