All Requests: Doing Something You're Bad At

l. wants a post in answer to the question: Why would it be worthwhile to do something you're not good at?  I'm so excited about answering this one that I've even taken pictures.  These are stand ins for the visual aids I would do with my hands if we were talking. 

A mentor of mine spoke to me on exactly this issue, about seven years ago.  She grabbed some pens and pencils from a nearby can and held them in her hand, like this.  She said, "Think of each pen or pencil as a skill or attribute you have, or a sense or ability of yours.  And think of its height above your fingers as the level of development you've attained in that particular skill."  I nodded.  Okay.  "For most people, it's kind of a random mix.  It looks kind of like this, with all the pens and pencils at different levels."   I nodded.  "During our lives, we work to increase the height of these pencils.  That's personal development." 

She then tapped all the pens and pencils down with the flat of the other hand, much lower.  From the bottom, she poked a couple pencils up so they were very high above the others, as pictured here.  "You," she said, "look kind of like this.  You have some very highly developed skills, that tower over the rest of them.  And you have a lot of these pencils that are scrunched way down, and that haven't really developed very much."  I gulped.  I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.  "Part of this is that you were born this way," she continued, gently.  "But part of it is that these highly developed parts know really well how to get better.  You've gotten very good at getting them higher up.  But these other parts, well, you don't really know how to do that -- it's a little bit clumsy and new and awkward.  So you choose to put your energy into the pencils that are really high, because it's easy to see progress that way."  I nodded. 

"But these really high pencils, what's going to happen if they get much higher?  They might fall out. There's nothing to hold them in. They're not supported by anything around them.  So they're mad at these other ones.  They look down from their mighty height at the low pencils, hunkered down there, and they resent them for not being higher, for limiting them.  They are scornful and angry."  Yikes.  "And that doesn't make the low parts feel very good about trying to develop."  Ugh.  "You need all these parts.  There are things the low pencils can do that the tall pencils just aren't equipped to do.  They need each other.  And the only way these low pencils are going to grow is if you give them some attention and some energy, and if you encourage them, even if they're clumsy and awkward at first.  Your highly developed parts can't be mean to these other parts."

Phew.  I've been working on this for the last 6 years.  I feel like a more whole person.  I know there are still big imbalances across the height of my particular set of pencils, but I'm much much nicer to the whole bundle.  And I think the whole bundle is higher.  The tall ones aren't as bossy or critical of the low ones.  I'm a lot happier.      

Comments

[bridgeovertroubledwater]

What a blessing to have such a mentor. If only more of us had such support and insights to work with. I'm so glad that you are using those "long AND short pencils" to nurture others.

[Dan]

Great post... thanks for passing on the wisdom of your mentor.

[Denise]

Excellent (despite the flaw in the logic that when you use a pencil, it gets shorter)!!!!

Without having such an articulate understanding of it, I think I've been doing much the same thing this past dozen years or so, in my own life. You're right -- it *does* lead to a much happier state of being. How very lucky you were to have such a mentor -- and to be smart enough in your own right to recognize the value of the lesson.

[Carol Anne]

There's another reason to work at something we're bad at, at least for those who have in some way become distinguished as "gifted" or some such.

We need to know struggle, and maybe even failure. All our lives, we're successful at everything we do. We ace all our exams in school, we get perfect scores on the SAT, we know everything about everything and can maintain an intelligent conversation on any erudite topic. Academically, at least, we're golden.

When I was growing up, the school system didn't have a separate label or category for "gifted and talented," but I know now that that's what I was, and what my husband was; our son got the official diagnosis when he was in second grade.

The problem is that all of the approval we get is meaningless. We are what we are, and that's not something that deserves praise, because it's not something we have chosen.

So we choose to pursue something that we do badly, because that is an area in which we can learn and grow and improve. In my case, that's taking the helm of a sailboat in the Women's Adams Cup competition. I'm not exactly an adept sailor to start with, and I have a steep learning curve in several areas -- learning racing rules, learning how to command a crew, multitasking of all sorts.

Because much of the rest of life has come easily, something I really have to work for is also worth so much more.

[l.]

I think the idea behind the pencils works intra-personally too. If you're scornful of your own low pencils, you'll be dismissive of people who are strong in your low pencil areas.

Thanks for the post - you are so good at making things that I sort of half-sense more understandable...

[Kelly]

I would really like to know what your "pencils" are...I myself am at a crossroads and find that I have no clue what I may be good at. Give some hints?