Why being an Amateur brings Joy

There's this notion that in order to do anything you have to be great at it first, but what happened to doing things for the love of it? Why must there always be a flawless product at the end?

Why do we kill off our joy?

This is something I've suffered with over the years, and it's applied to every area of my life where I was good at something and enjoyed it. It had to be made perfect.

When I was little, it was art. I loved drawing and painting and playing with any medium I could get my hand on. But so quickly my artwork wasn't about enjoying myself or about expression. It was about how good it was and how much better it could be.

A few years into my school career, and mind you this was very much still in the early years of my education- but I was an advanced reader, reading and comprehending at a college level before I was even in 5th grade. But it wasn't enough to enjoy reading so much that I was devouring 800 page books in under 72 hours. I had to be put in AP classes and given separate syllabus' and reading work so I could be challenged properly.

It was the same again with music. I couldn't just enjoy it, I couldn't just have an ear for it or have it come easily or naturally. I had to be incredible. Flawless pitch and posture. It didn't mean anything if I didn't get recognition. If I didn't have a name in music.

I'm an adult now and I've never thought about why I don't indulge in all of my great loves anymore. I don't sing except in my car, I don't paint or sketch my feelings when they're so raw in my chest I can't articulate them any other way. I read, endlessly sometimes but it's more to cope with the constant influx of challenges than it is to expand my brain or broaden my views of the world.

The worst of it all is that I've allowed this mentality to slowly poison all my great loves.

It's even started to poison fitness for me.

Because I'm not aesthetically fit. Because my form needs a lot of work sometimes. Because my workout gear isn't matchy or expensive or from a brand that is exclusive. I'm not a pilates princess or a powerlifter and I'm quite squishy in a few spots. I have visible cellulite through my leggings and a mom apron that has been absolutely impossible to deflate. I have a Mom Ass, love handles, and stretchmarks up to my ribs.

See how all I notice are all the ways I've not perfected fitness? All the ways I don't measure up?

I wish I could take myself back to the days where I didn't give a shit about what I looked like while doing something I loved. I wish so hard that I could take on the things I love with the unwavering confidence of a 4 year old.

Maybe that's the trick. The key to it all.

To just boldly throw ourselves at what we love without giving a single fuck for any outside opinions or objections or corrections.

What if instead of approaching the great loves of my life as something I need to perfect, I simply approach them like an amateur- like I have no clue what I'm doing but I'm just gonna wing it and trust that it will all work out in the end?

That's my vow this year. Spring is coming, and the time for rebirth and new growth will start pushing through the frozen earth soon enough. I'm keeping all my goals from last year because I'm not done working on them. But I'm adding a new one too. I'm adding a promise to myself to throw myself at what I love without a second thought. Without second guessing myself or what I'll look like or what someone else has to say about it.

My inner child is so excited. My inner teen is screaming her head off in insecurity.

I cannot wait to unburden myself from the shackles of perfection. I can't wait to feel like an amateur again and bask in the freedom that it offers. The unrelenting joy that comes from be fully present and authentically myself. Rolls included.