A lengthy, but worthwhile excerpt from Living and Examined Life:

When we think of the gift of ourselves, we usually revert to what is accepted, what is exceptional, or what might win approval. The flip side of this impulse may be seen in the desperate acts of the disenfranchised to become something notable through assassinations...Each act is the same: I wish to be seen, to be valued, to be someone. And as understandable as this desire surely is, how delusive the goal, how precarious the purchase on fame, importance, celebrity. Rather, our gift will best be found in the humble abode in which we live every day. Who I am, who you are, is the gift. No pretensions, no magnification necessary. They are merely compensations for self-doubt in any case...

Some people's lives express themselves externally through the gifts of intellect, talent, or achievement of some sort or another. The world of selfies, the Guinness World Records, and the need for the fifteen minutes of fame are all compensations for not feeling one's inherent value in the first place. For most of us, however, the gift we may bring this world is found in moments of spontaneity where we add our small piece to the collective...

How many times people have said to me, "I always wanted to ..." (fill in the blank)—to write a book, learn to play the piano, fly a plane, and so on—yet all of those sentences also include a "but" that transitions the thought down the familiar old alley of flight, denial, repression, and disregard. The "but" covers a multitude of rationales, fears, and old messages that keep us from our essential selfhood, from our ordinary being that is our gift to the world. In asking what gift we are withholding, rather than some spectacular achievement, we are rather humbled to come before the reality of who we are and to realize that that is our most precious gift.

To be eccentric, not to fit in, to hear our own drummer, these are the signs of our bringing our gift, our personhood, to the table of life. It sounds so simple, but it is so difficult, not only because of all the disabling messages of the past but also because to be that gift asks us to let go and trust that something within us is good enough, wise enough, strong enough to belong in this world. How dare one disregard what is seeking expression through us, to cower in the darkness of fear, to resist the gift that illumines this otherwise colorless world.

The common barrier to entry to those "I always wanted to"'s is looking like an amateur, or even worse, a beginner! To do something without the promise of being exceptional at it.

So the true work — the really challenging bit — in creative work is doing said work, knowing that there's no guaranteed reward coming in return externally. Even if so, they are fickle. A writer seeking the big break and validation will one day be knocked on their behind when it slips away.

I hope it's clear that I'm writing about it because this is a lesson I'm continuing to learn. The aim is to facilitate what is seeking expression, regardless of the outcome. It is humbling. Sometimes even the project itself is ugly. Sometimes it's drawing Gundams in my sketchbook, knowing the drawing will turn out poorly. Sometimes it's publishing a piece that only I'm interested in.

So I'm self-prescribing a bit of advice: De-link the value from being exceptional. It does not take greatness or approval. The gift is in the quiet moments of doing the thing.

As an example, I'm slowing down on finished digital pieces and am spending more time in the sketch book. Less work ends up here, but I haven't minded much since it's simply fun to move the pencil around the page.

Something to be mindful of always, when publishing is easy, and eyeballing the performance of every single thing is readily available. To still share in the face of all that with the intent of giving a gift. in spite of the allure of recognition and acceptance. What a careful tightrope!

Except, of course, there is a reward: a fulfilling practice.

Now would be a good time to close with the Brett Goldstein quote that's been floating around:

The secret of The Muppets is they’re not very good at what they do. Kermit’s not a great host, Fozzie’s not a good comedian, Miss Piggy’s not a great singer… Like, none of them are actually good at it, but they fucking love it. And they’re like a family, and they like putting on the show. And they have joy. And because of the joy, it doesn’t matter that they’re not good at it. And that’s like what we should all be. Muppets.