Today's Challenge:
We are our most potent at our most ordinary. And yet most of us discount our "ordinary" because it is, well, ordinary. Or so we believe. But my ordinary is not yours. Three things block us from putting down our clever and picking up our ordinary: false comparisons with others (I'm not as good a writer as _____), false expectations of ourselves (I should be on the NYTimes best seller list or not write at all), and false investments in a story (it's all been written before, I shouldn't bother). What are your false comparisons? What are your false expectations? What are your false investments in a story? List them. Each keep you from that internal knowing about which Emerson writes. Each keeps you from making your strong offer to the world. Put down your clever, and pick up your ordinary.
Today's entry:
This is a tough one, if only because I think about at least 2 of these 3 questions every single day. I've had my say recently about social comparison and how pervasive and destructive it can be in the internet age. I hate to go on yet another rant about perfectionism, but the idea of "clever" vs. "ordinary" caught my eye.
I think the core problem with obsessing over our own cleverness is that, like perfectionism, we're comparing a flawless illusion to a flawed outcome. If we take our "clever" idea and release it into the world, other people might not find it so ingenious. Even worse, we may realize it was only a wisp of a clever idea, and it evaporates as soon as it hits the cold morning air.
So, we revel in our perfect concept of cleverness, rather than risk it being tarnished.
When other people do clever things that just aren't as clever as what we imagine our clever thing is, we silently mock their imperfection. Someday, our cleverness will come to light and the world will know the truth! Until then, pity the fools who reveal their imperfection!
It's a convenient lie, but it's a lie all the same. Our minds can make a tiny fragment of a notion seem like a shining truth, if it catches the light just right, but from any other angle, there's nothing but empty air. A clever notion without action is nothing.
An imperfect but realized idea is superior in every way to a perfectly clever illusion. It's taken me a long time to accept that, because the clever illusion can be so comforting. Ultimately, though, it's also frustrating – the comfort only lasts as long as the illusion. If I bring something into being, it may not be as clever as I'd hoped, but at least it's real.
