Orange Peel In Pieces
When I was a kid, I always felt I needed to get orange peels off in one try. If after the meticulous and unnecessary effort I couldn’t hold up one continuous ribbon of citrus skin as evidence of my success, what was the point? Why should I eat the orange at all?
For a long time, this was my mindset in microcosm. Everything I did had a point to prove behind it. Every action needed to proclaim to the world that I was talented, capable, and promising. If I couldn’t make it perfect, why bother making it at all? If I wasn’t prodigious on the first go, why try again? This aversion to failure didn’t make me successful, though; instead, it made me severely limited.
Our culture tells us that everything we are and all that we produce needs to be near flawless. Hobbies are denounced as a waste of time if they don’t bolster your wallet or your resume. We’re offered ultimatums: produce something considered excellent by the masses or produce nothing at all; strive for perfection or nothing. This year I’ve been trying to challenge that notion in my life. I don’t need to be “good” at everything I do. A lack of skill is not a moral failing. In fact, sometimes it’s simply more fun to be happily bad at something and to keep doing it in spite of my lack of skill.
Some things that I’ve tried lately that I’ve been bad at and enjoyed nonetheless: snowboarding, pottery, crochet, rock climbing, and line dancing.
I didn’t discover some new hidden talent that I can transform into a side hustle or personal statement topic. That wasn’t the goal. The purpose of trying these things was to experience something new without the fear of mediocrity interfering—and I was indeed almost overwhelmingly mediocre at everything listed above.
Today, consider trying something that you think you’ll feel a little bit ridiculous doing. Disregard that little voice that tells you people are going to look at you funny and do it anyway. Go snowboarding and fall flat on your face on the bunny slope in front of fifty other novices. Enjoy the sun shining and the sounds of your friends laughing. Make a misshapen bowl at a pottery studio and relish the feel of the clay spinning beneath your hands. Pick a thousand other hobbies that you could try once or engage with for the rest of your life, and feel the satisfaction of being happily bad at them on the first, second, or thousandth try.
I’ve found that trying new things is about asking yourself the right questions. When the question becomes “did I have fun doing this?” instead of “am I good enough at this to do it again?” the priority becomes pleasure rather than performance. This change in perspective means showing yourself the grace that allows you to cast off the pressure of success in things that are just meant to bring you joy, not a check or a gold medal.
I don’t need a preexisting skill set or a natural aptitude for every single thing I try. That’s too much pressure for me to put on myself, and the same is true for you. Perfection and natural talent are not prerequisites for a new hobby or for your existence in the world, and if we wait to pursue something new until we’re sure we have an innate ability for it then we lose occasions of joy and chances to discover something we truly love.
The purpose of the oranges I once insisted on peeling in one go is not perfection, after all. The purpose of the orange is beauty and flavor and sustenance and simplicity. This year I am making these things my purpose too, and allowing them to overshadow my often insidious pursuit of perfection.
Peel your oranges in pieces and let the pulp stick beneath your nails. Don’t be afraid of mediocrity—embrace it as a sign of the courage it takes to reveal imperfection. Allow yourself to try and fail and be overwhelmingly, unabashedly mediocre at something new. Get good at being bad at things.
Strike out,
Written by: Sarah Singleton
Edited by: Jane Dodge
Graphic by: Abby Randolph
