There are very few things that soothe my soul more than the ability to spill its contents onto a piece of paper (or, in this case, onto a computer screen.) When I write, my mind slows down just enough so that I can string the racing fragments of thoughts together and finally understand exactly how I’m feeling. But what happens when the thing you’re most passionate about starts to feel less like a gift and more like a chore?
I wrote and trashed 60 different versions of my opening sentence to this article before finally settling on one. Honestly, I really had no reason to erase the other 59 sentences; they weren’t bad (well, most of them weren’t), but they just weren’t right. I am fully aware that part of the writing process is rewriting your work over and over until you get what you want, but I wasn’t incessantly re-structuring the same sentence for myself, rather I was doing it because I wanted other people to like it. I wanted people to like it so much they would praise me for it.
I have always loved writing and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am good at it. I know I’m good at it because people tell me so. That’s the problem. Writing used to be something I did for myself because I loved it, and then I got a whiff of how it felt to be admired for something I loved to do. At first, it was just nice to be commended for something I enjoyed so much, but those innocent compliments have quickly turned into the thing that fuels me. I’ve lost the ability to write for myself because I am desperate for someone to tell me I am good at what I do.
I am in no way trying to say that compliments are bad or that I never want another person to tell me I am good at something (please don’t stop telling me I’m good at something), but it breaks my heart to think how many athletes, singers or performers have lost passion for what they are most gifted at in pursuit of the praises of others.
Instead of using our talents as means to build our own egos, we should keep in mind that we were each given these gifts as means to build the Kingdom of God. Yes, we should share our talents with the world, that’s what they’re there for, but God doesn’t need us to be perfect. He would rather us be raw and exposed, but giving everything we have instead of composed and perfect, but sharing only half of what He gave us.
So here I am, six drafts deep into this essay, trying to remember that at the end of my life I would rather stand before God with nothing left knowing I used every bit of the talent he gave me instead of with a basket full of meaningless compliments knowing that I held back from what He needed me to say.
