Good, Not Perfect

Two years ago today, something little short of miraculous happened.

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Photo credit: Jim Hillmann

I witnessed the launch of my first published novel.

It wasn’t the first book I’d ever written. I started my first novel when I was fifteen and labored over it lovingly all through high school and part of college. Then one day, I knew I’d outgrown it. It was crushing to realize that it wasn’t my magnum opus, and that it wasn’t going to be published. I lovingly, sadly filed it away in the proverbial drawer. And I started work on a new book. That one ended up in the drawer too. And the next one.

And then came the book that would become The Illuminator’s Gift. Five years of writing and rewriting–by the shores of an English lake, in the middle of the night, in bed with whooping cough, in fingerless gloves on bitterly cold mornings. A book whose first draft was 100,000 words long. A book that went through at least three titles and about thirty secondary characters, half of whom never made it into the final. A book whose story I didn’t know until I finished it. In some ways, it came to me like a gift.

As I was getting close to finishing, I held long debates with myself over whether this was The Book That Ought To Be Published. I studied literature and writing in college, and I knew enough to see that this was not a perfect book. Should it end up in the drawer with all the other defunct novels? Should I wait to publish until I wrote Something Perfect?

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Photo credit: Jim Hillmann

Well, I decided to go for it. Because I knew that this book had come to me like a gift, and a gift is meant for sharing. I also had the sneaking suspicion that if I chickened out on this book and hid it away out of a sense of fear and rampant perfectionism, I might never work up the nerve to publish anything. After all, when am I really going to write Something Perfect? When is anybody? (Okay, Tolkien excepted.)

And there’s a time to let go of Something Perfect and go forward with Something Good.

This was it.

Not that I don’t still sometimes wonder why on earth I decided to share this imperfect book with the world. (Especially the first time someone found a typo in the book.)

But when it comes down to it, I’m awfully glad I did.

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Photo credit: Jim Hillmann

Because it started me on a path of saying yes to projects that are Good-Not-Perfect. Stuff like taking a solo roadtrip to a monastery (and nervously checking my tire pressure approximately 954 times). Like signing up to take graduate-level seminary classes. Like speaking in front of 200 fourth-graders. Like writing, editing, and publishing a second book within a year of the first (and writing a third, due out next year).

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Photo credit: Jim Hillmann

Aristotle said, “We are what we repeatedly do.” And as one Good-Not-Perfect project–writing, relationships, teaching–leads to another, this paradigm is shaping my life. With practice, I’m becoming better able to accept what is good in life, even if it’s not perfect. And for this life I am most deeply grateful.

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Photo credit: Jim Hillmann

What are some of the good-not-perfect things in your life?

Hobbies vs. Passion

Singing is one of my hobbies.

From an early age, I’d wander around the house singing—sometimes my favorite Disney hits; sometimes tunes of my own making. A Christmas pageant director once told me I had perfect pitch. I took a few voice lessons and sang on my church’s praise team as a teenager. I even ended up in my college’s women’s choir.

When I was younger, I thought I wanted to make this dream into a career. I thought I wanted to be a singer.

But today it’s a hobby.

I still absolutely enjoy singing (especially when the Frozen soundtrack comes on in my car).

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But I knew singing wasn’t my passion when I realized I didn’t want to work at it. Glittering stardom and singing my heart out for a packed arena of fans sounded okay. But music theory classes? Hours spent in a practice room?

Ick. It would kill the joy of singing for me.

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Photography is another hobby of mine. My family got our first point-and-shoot digital camera in 2004, and almost immediately my finger was glued to the shutter button. I’d never enjoyed analog photography, because when my packet of prints would come back after 2 weeks, half the shots were invariably blurred or featured my finger across the lens—and by then, of course, it was too late to fix them.

With the help of the digital LCD screen, though, I began to play with composition, lighting, and color—knowing I could delete the hundreds of bloopers without cost or frustration. I learned a few things from friends and from books, and for high school graduation my mom upgraded me to a camera with many more capabilities. I did photo shoots for friends and family and even a few paid gigs. I thought about becoming a photographer.

But the fact was—

I didn’t want to work at it.

I may still be the family’s designated cameraperson, and taking pictures with friends is still one of my favorite pastimes. Unless otherwise credited, all the images on this blog are mine, and I’m glad I can make them decent.

But classes and books on color theory and darkroom technique? Lugging around loads of equipment and small-talking about white balance and f-stops?

No thank you.

That kind of work would take the joy out of photography for me.

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Storytelling is my passion.

I didn’t always know that. There was a time when I thought writing was my absolute nemesis.

But with some tastes of success, some writerly friends, and some encouraging teachers, I began to feel like I could be good at writing. I began to like it. Suddenly, around age 14, I realized I loved it.

At first, I didn’t want to work at it. I wanted my first drafts to be magically perfect (hey, wouldn’t that be nice?).

But as my confidence grew, so did my willingness to edit, to accept critique. I took classes, formed writing groups with other teens. I read books that inspired me. And soon it became evident.

Writing wasn’t just a hobby. It’s my passion—my calling—my vocation.

And when you find that one consuming passion, you’re willing to work for it. Even if it means cutting up a whole story with scissors, shuffling the pieces around, and rewriting.

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“I want to be a writer!”

I hear that a lot.

In elementary schoolers, I encourage it. A dream is something that can fuel you, give you direction. And I’m biased, but I think writing is a wonderful dream.

For older students and adults, though, I add a few words of caution:

Know the difference between your hobbies and your passion.

Not that I don’t want people to become writers. It’s a path filled with beauty, energy, and excitement. I wouldn’t choose any other.

But the road is also paved with risk, anxiety, isolation, and sacrifice.

And to stay the course without losing your joy, writing has to be your passion, not just a hobby.

 

Have you found your passion? What other hobbies did you dream of making into careers?

 

Canyons

Canyons are a bad idea.

As my family and I roadtripped around the American Southwest at the end of May, we saw a lot of them. They’re fissures in the earth, weird yawning abysses. I thought of Dante’s Inferno or C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. In fact, it looks like I wasn’t the only one:

A sign from the Grand Canyon shuttle route

Canyon hiking is an especially bad idea. Besides the abnormal elevation at the rim, the increasing temperature as you descend, the arid landscape that sucks out your body moisture, the sheer drops at every turn, the risk of poisonous snakes and scorpions, possible claustrophobia, and rapidly changing weather conditions, you have to deal with this fact:

Down is optional, up is mandatory

Unlike with mountain hiking, in a canyon you hike downhill first, while you’re fresh. But you’d better hike to only about 1/3 of your energy–because then it’s twice as hard to come back up. When you’re already tired.

So canyon hiking is a really bad idea.

But…

…if we never took risks…

…if we never ran with an idea that might fail…

…if we never did anything just a little bit crazy…

…we’d miss out on this.

Bryce Canyon, Utah

And this.

Grand Canyon, Arizona

And this.

Antelope Canyon, Arizona

Sometimes risks aren’t worth the payoff. And of course you have to plan for them accordingly. But sometimes…maybe unexpectedly…risks can reveal life’s beauty.

Ever taken a risk that made you glad you did?