I am listening to words that seem wrong, just wrong. Doris has one of the most fascinating lives I’ve ever heard tell. She’s a best-selling author, experienced America from Brooklyn to Los Angeles, met Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan, seen President Roosevelt, travelled abroad, and generally lived deeply and richly for almost 94 years. I feel unbelievably privileged when the phone rings after she’s read my work and I hear, “Keep Writing. You’re good.”
And yet during our writers’ discussion group, another member asks her if she was good at ballet as a child. Doris makes a, “Pshaw,” sort of noise and answers quietly, “I’ve never really thought I was very good at anything.”
Of course, we couldn’t disagree more, but I sympathize with the sincerity in her voice. I start to wonder, who among us ever feels adept and accomplished? To get that feeling, some work harder to make our efforts shine. Others hide our gifts and live in fear of trying something we won’t do well. (Most of us probably do a bit of both.)
I mentally leave the moment and think of the melancholy my friend Shayne and I share about retirement: I say, “I want someone young and energetic with good ideas to step in and do my job. I’ll try not to be jealous.”
“Will it be like we leave no mark? Life will just keep going on as if we were never here.”
I understand her point and ponder this for a minute. “Maybe it was special because it was our turn. It was us, right? We did it.”
My mind stretches ever further back in time: My third-grade students, Mara and Brooke, are working on building a project together, and Brooke’s part isn’t turning out the way she wants. She has a mini-meltdown; “I’m not good at anything!”
“How can you say that?” Mara starts to tell Brooke all the things she admires about her, finishing with, “. . . and there’s no one who plays Polly Pocket like you.”
There we go! No one can do it like you. Don’t worry about if you’re good at it. Keep at it for good.
Mentally back in my critique group, I tell Doris what a privilege it is to read her work. In my heart, I hope she keeps at it for good a long, long time.
