Iterations

I dream of making a masterpiece, but i’m not sure i’m ready to give one what it takes.

A Masterpiece is a well-composed symphony of many ingredients–a glimmer of an idea, a dash of courage, a medium with which to create, to name a few. These are easily given.

But the most essential ingredient is also the most precious and the most difficult to give: your time.

I never struggle with the first few hours; I’m pretty good at Beginnings. I find it easy to channel inspiration long enough to leap into novelty. I frequently become enamored with visions of What Could Be and effortlessly jot down outlines, sketch up skeletons, and gather the resources I'll need to bring my envisioned future into the world.

Instead, I struggle with iterations.

I never stick with a single idea or project long enough to watch a masterpiece emerge. I relentlessly jump from project to project, breathing life into each new idea that visits me without consideration for the neglected visions I've left behind. Each next first draft always seems more promising, more exciting, or less risky than sticking around to see whether I was really onto something.

I have fears about never growing up to face the wake of first drafts and half started projects that clutter my Mac’s desktop, or the long list of cities that “I spent some time in” but left behind without any roots to show for it. But with an ever-growing backlog of project ideas to address, I also know that I should be picky about where I choose to spend my time.

Until now, I've justified my lack of commitment by trusting that I'll know the Right Projects to chase down when I see them. Each first draft has felt like a search for a seed whose DNA promises growth and beauty in exchange for attention and care.

At the same time, I know that this “I’ll know it when I see it” philosophy towards my projects goes against the very nature of Masterpieces. Masterpieces are rarely channeled or discovered. More often, they’re cultivated and forged. Masterpieces are stared at, mulled over, iterated on, killed, and reborn only to mature once again. Or one thousand Once Agains until the details become intricate and the accidents intentional. Masterpieces rarely happen on their own, and almost never happen all at once. They are born instead from a level of consistency and care that I haven’t yet had the maturity to give them.

For now, exploration still feels like a sensible choice. Being in my early 20s, I’m still betting that this challenge is a symptom of my stage of life and that I still have the whole world in front of me. Still, I'm beginning to internalize that exploration isn’t free and that I can’t go on neglecting my first drafts without remorse for much longer. Pretty soon, I expect that I'll need to give myself wholly to a job, to a city, to a person, and to a project if I want to hold onto my chances of painting a picture I'm proud of. In the meantime, I take solace in the fact that each new draft has been better and easier to put together than the last, charged with the skillset, wisdom, and experience gained from the previous. Maybe one day I'll need to stop throwing down first drafts, but maybe there’s no such thing.