After working a full Saturday (doing what I love) I do what any other chap would do. I meet my wife at an essential oils party.
Unfortunately, the oil oration has already concluded. Bummer.
I peruse a display of volcano necklaces on view in one corner of the kitchen, with the Mrs. It’s rumored that once the oils are applied to the volcanic rock beads you then wield the healing powers of liquid hot magma. These claims have not yet been verified by the FDA, of course.
After making the rounds and snacking for a while, I’m catching up with a friend I haven’t seen much lately. Somehow the conversation turns to creating. We talk about the process of bringing something to life and the things you learn along the way. He mentions how he has a different perspective on taking risks than I do. He considers himself a man who plays it safe.
I can tell he has concerns about putting himself out there for people to form an opinion of. (Specifically something like a personal creative work like I share each week.) He appeals to the negative banter that dominates our public discourse as justification for his apprehension. Why should he expose himself to the petty criticisms that often finagle their way to the good work of our hearts?
I tell him I get it.
I’ve been there. I’m still here.
My professional work gets criticized constantly. Here is, verbatim, a phone message that was left at a client’s office a few months back:
[Caller] Said our commercials sound like Hallmark for girls.
The intended recipient? The Advertising Department.
The caller’s name? You guessed it. Anonymous.
That one is actually pretty hilarious. But we get a lot of these and sometimes, if you’re not set, they bother you for a step. This is part of working in advertising. Your work, that good work that exhaled from your heart, is on display for anybody to judge.
I don’t think I went too far when I said this kind of criticism is petty.
I’ve received it as well for things I’ve written here, to you. But I also receive, regularly, messages from readers who share their thoughts and takeaways. They’re often profound. They’re sometimes sentimental. They’re always heartwarming. Each one fills my bucket to bursting. (Thanks, for that.)
So I know that I must keep doing what I know to do. This is why my friend should do what he knows to do, too.
There’s so much good to be sewn.
Are we going to let the potential, albeit pretty much guaranteed, petty small-mindedness of a few cause us creative paralysis?
Who gave them that kind of power over us?
It’s not for them to say.
So, what is it you had in mind?
Whatever it is, I think you should do it.
