This week, I have two new blog posts available to be published. There is only one problem. They suck. Like, they really suck. Sure, there are pieces of good information in there, but it just isn’t coherent and it is downright unpublishable. So I’ll save those for a rainy day (Bad joke alert: it’s Friday in Charlotte and raining buckets). But in the meantime, having done the work but just not quite having the final result gave me an idea. So here we go.
In my past life, I would be annoyed right now. I would be upset at not having anything good enough to publish. In my new life, I am quite pleased. I have done the work, done the thinking, and done the writing. And for better or worse, there just wasn’t a result this week. It has happened to me in soccer before. It has happened just this week twice on the golf course. (Excellent thinking, grinding, and tinkering. Terrible score.)
And then it occurred to me, I have fallen in love with the work. And the work itself is plenty to write about for a publishable post.
Here is an important lesson I have learned over the past few years: if you look at my pictures and my Instagram page, etc., you will see mostly very pretty results and outcomes. (They are authentic, mind you, but they are still the end result.). The finish line. The outfit. The sunset.
All filtered just a little bit to sharpen up the actual visual image. But what you rarely see, and it is imperative you remember this, is the work. The actual work. These blogs don’t write themselves each week. I don’t just suddenly appear in Mexico City or randomly create a new hat.
There is immense amount of thought and grind and work that goes into all of it. You just don’t see that, but I want you to remember that it is there. And that’s what I want you to fall in love with. (Your own work, not mine.)
Because sometimes you miss the sunset. Sometimes you don’t finish the race. Sometimes you lose the game, or shoot absurdly high golf scores, or write a couple of really crappy blog posts. But if you are digging the work, you never lose. Because, eventually, the journey itself becomes a really freaking good blog post, or maybe even an entire blog (cough, cough).
I think, subconsciously, I’ve always been interested in the journey. Take my wardrobe. I’ve built a closet full of clothes that are quite extraordinary. I don’t mind bragging about that because I have slowly been unwinding it. Specifically having that wardrobe doesn’t really matter to me. Do I need 16 pair of Jordans? Do I need 8 Hermès ties? Of course not.
It’s time for someone else to have them. And my hope is that that person will wear them, gain some personal confidence, and then do something great that they otherwise might not have done.
It was always the journey, the story, and the meaning of these pieces that were important to me, and I’ve just finally been able to understand and articulate this. I always had professional clothiers hounding me to dress me, and all I ever had to tell them was how much I enjoy the journey of doing it myself.
I had infinite mistakes along the way. Buying a brand to be cool. Buying the wrong size because it was that brand. Trying new styles that were never, ever going to look good (I see you purple pinstripe shorts). But that was the journey, and that was what was important. I’ve probably gotten rid of more clothes than I’ve ever bought (how is that even possible?) in an effort to get to know myself. Yes, yes. Now we’ve found the point.
Friends, I really hate that I screwed up all of my ideas this week and had nothing to present to you. Damn. I’ll just try harder next Sunday.
Have a great week.-Benj
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