I wasn’t going to write about this publicly until I succeeded. Until I had a result to show the world, a jubilant proof that persistence and hard work pays off in the end. Now that I’ve failed, that seems kind of stupid. Wouldn’t it just feed the social media thing of always showing yourself from your best side, proudly showing off your achievements to create an image of yourself closer to the flawless ideal of a person you’d like to be? Put together, this thing leads to being so surrounded by achievements and experiences that you cannot help but feeling that you haven’t amounted to anything much at all, and that your life is really rather dull. It’s not unreasonable to compare yourself with other people, but this effect makes you compare yourself with not one but a hundred or more other people all at once. Of course you’re going to feel like you’re missing out, when you’re only one person and only have the one life to live.
I’ve been busy the past few months learning how to drive a motorcycle. Going for a licence. I’ve spent a lot of money on lessons, and a lot of time practicing with a very patient and generous friend. By the kindness of my father, I’ve even got my own motorcycle. I’m more motivated about this than I’ve ever been about something before (anyone who’ve known me for some time knows that I’ve been talking about this for half my life). I really should have been ready.
And yet, when the day came, it turned out I wasn’t. Not even close to good enough, apparently. I failed so bad that I felt naïve for even thinking I had a chance of success. As the wave of disappointment rolled over me I realised that what I mostly felt was shame. Shame of not living up to my friends’ expectations. After all the time and energy put into this, how could I look them in the eyes and tell them it didn’t come to pass this year, either? Surely they would forever think of me as the one who only ever talked about things but was never dedicated enough to actually turn dreams into reality.
On the other hand, how much of the struggle that my friends have had to put into their achievements am I actually aware of? How many failures? How many projects indefinitely postponed? Probably not many at all, compared to how acutely aware I am of my own. Who knows, in somebody else’s eyes I might be one of the heads of the Over-Acheiving Hydra of the Internet.
I’d like to come to terms with the fact that driving a motorcycle is a difficult thing for me. I want to realise that it doesn’t necessarily mean that I do not want it enough, that I wasn’t in some mystical sense born into it, or that I am simply not worthy of riding such noble machinery. Of course I want it, and I am as much born and worthy to do this as anyone who sets their mind to it. I just have a harder time learning motoric skills (pun absolutely intended) than many. It doesn’t mean I can’t learn it, it just means it takes a longer time.
I want to accept that, to really feel that what is worth having is worth working for, instead of feeling like my life and my dreams are slipping through my fingers while I idly and helplessly look on. It should be an easy shift of perspective, because I am far from idle and not the least bit helpless. And though I’ve got more work to do I have come a long way from where I started. It’s just the seemingly inescapable urge of identifying myself with what I accomplish that’s stopping me from discarding the feelings of shame and stress and go at it with calm persistence and patience. Even joy.
When you want to hurry something, that means you no longer care about it and want to get on to other things.
— Robert M. Pirsig (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance)
It is easier to believe something that’s written down, I’ve found. So hear this now: I am not my achievements. I’m just a piece of the Universe longing to explore itself through a complicated constellation of flesh manouvering a slightly less complicated constellation of metal. That’s so enough that the word deserve doesn’t even come into the picture. I’ll continue to learn, at my own pace, and have another go at it next year.
Love and patience,
Winterdragon
