The Opposite of Trying
Beginner's Luck and Other True Things
For the last few days, I’ve been trying to write about Beginner’s Luck. It’s something I experience all the time, it’s real, and I thought I could easily explain it.
Hmmph.
Around 5am this morning, as I was lying in bed thinking about what was bugging me about my post on Beginner’s Luck, I remembered a quote I found the other day that I must have scribbled down during some zoom call or webinar that was still lying in a pile of papers by my computer:
‘Surrender is the opposite of trying.’
Now depending on where you lie on the spiritual spectrum from atheist to devotee, the word ‘surrender’ could completely repel you or feel like the ultimate spiritual act. I personally have been exploring this word for many years (mostly in the middle of the night) and I still find it confusing, compelling, discomfiting and essential all at once. It’s a huge thing.
Setting its hugeness aside for the moment, what does “surrender is the opposite of trying” have to do with being a beginner?
As someone who ‘tries hard’ all the time, it did land as true for me. ‘But,’ I wondered, ‘isn’t trying hard the same as working hard?’
What’s hardest for most humans, I believe, is ambiguity. I think it feels unsafe. But ambiguity is essential to the creative process. It’s also built into being a beginner.
Being a beginner brings the creative process into high relief because at the beginning, the creative process is basically all you’ve got. Which also means you’re up to your eyeballs in ambiguity.
Now, when you’re a raw beginner at something, you don’t know what you don’t know so your ignorance is bliss. At the same time, the universe often does this nice thing of tossing you some Beginner’s Luck—a happy small success or two right out of the gate—to give you the courage to keep going and do it again. So you do.
Isn’t that nice? I sure love it.
And then you learn another law of the universe: Beginner’s Luck leaves. As mysteriously as it arrived. Bye Bye Beginner’s Luck, it was nice while it lasted.
Although you’re still a beginner when this happens, you’ve now learned some stuff. You see more clearly what’s actually involved in getting proficient in whatever it is you are learning to do and at the same time, you’ve likely become more emotionally invested in doing it well.
Enter ‘trying.’
What is this trying thing all about?
Trying, I think, arises from an overwhelming desire to be ‘good’ that overrides the desire to create.
You look up from the ashes of your beginner’s luck and find yourself standing at the precipice of a vast chasm between being a beginner and being good. You can see the other side, but it feels like you can’t get there, like you don’t have what it takes.
But here’s the thing:
The fact that you made something pretty good right out of the gate wasn’t a fluke. Beginner’s Luck doesn’t come from outside of you, it comes from inside of you—what you made comes from your own actual ability. It’s like a flash gift from your future self to your current self, to show you what’s possible for you….later. If you will hang in there.
It’s a motivator.
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
I go through creative cycles in my art-making where I’m either in the throes of creating a bunch of work or in the throes of wandering through my personal dark forest of ambiguity—experimenting, wondering, testing, floundering.
I’m in that dark forest period right now, and as usual, there’s lots of losing my way, misplacing my compass, and dropping my flashlight as I trip along unfamiliar paths that I hope will eventually lead me home or at least somewhere really great.
I also tend to overwhelm myself in this phase by starting to learn several new techniques or tools at the same time. Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m drowning in a murky sea of intense ambiguity all of my own making.
I realized, as I lay in bed thinking about trying, that in the beginner-overwhelm that I’ve submerged myself in right now, the phrase ‘surrender is the opposite of trying’ means: Love the process. vs. Try to accomplish.
Love the tools and materials that I’m engaging with. Truly notice and appreciate their unique qualities as I familiarize myself with them. Deeply pay attention to each unfinished, clumsy half-creation in front of me without negating it in any way; rather, receive it exactly as it is because it is essential to my process. And then do another.
Instead of tolerating my limitations as I grapple with a new technique or tool; instead of using my will to plow my way through the creative ambiguity, I could ask myself: Can I let myself be curious? Can I let myself be slow? Can I respect what is required for me to learn this? Can I love this moment of unknowing? And this moment? And this moment?
Yes, I think I can do that—IF I remember not to rush myself through the awkwardness inherent in this step. IF I resist caving to the whining of my tender ego that doesn’t like haplessly flailing around and tries to convince me to just chuck the whole thing.
You can’t have dessert if you don’t eat your veggies.
The other hard thing is that there is no promise of a successful final product just because you waded through all that ambiguity. Sometimes I have to go down a dark path pretty darn far before I realize that I’m wrong—this or that technique or tool actually doesn’t help me do what I thought it would do, and I have to move on.
Was that time ‘wasted?’
That’s when I have to remember that process is everything. Create is a verb. The real power of art is in the doing, my ego be damned. The earth is constantly creating and re-creating itself. Creation is the nature of nature. I’m part of nature.
Let there be light.
This Week’s Inspiration
This week’s art inspiration is literary. My friend Jami messaged me this poem on Instagram from the account Poetry is Not a Luxury. It’s by Li-Young Li—a poet we both love. It seemed to fit the topic today:
From the Studio:
I’m in a nice mellow book arts club here in Taos. We meet once a month to make books or share books people have made. The group has a glass showcase in the Encore Gallery of the Taos Center for the Arts and various members of the group will create work in response to each new exhibition. We then display our “book oriented” creations concurrently with the exhibit. I only manage to make something for the vitrine every once in a while.
The group had been making origami boxes before the holidays (box making and book making sort of go together) and we decided to do a nature theme using our origami boxes as a starting point since the artwork being displayed at that time was nature based and the exhibiting artists also used the square framework a lot.
This was my contribution:
It was nice to make something three-dimensional out of paper, grass, and feathers with no glue. It felt quiet and simple. When I was picking a piece of paper from my stash to make the box, I was thinking about how in Taos, in winter, there’s a lot of orange and red in the dormant shrubs and willows that dot the landscape amidst the snow, rocks and dead grasses.
How about you? did you make anything this week? Try something new? Did you go out into the last of this winter season and feel your mammal self? Leave a comment, I’d love to hear.
Sarah, what succinct insights you convey! I'm gathering your words for my journey back into my creative self--and your timing with this is precious. The questions you ask, "Can I..." reverberate soundly into my being. Thank you for this!
Hello Sarah Bush! This post came at just the right time as I am unfolding out of a slump in the last day or so. And yes, I did get in touch with my mammal/ancient self, traveling to the high North and seeing the Aurora and the white on white on white that is the North in winter. Thank you for reminding me I am, not just trying.