Do you think I have what it takes?
It’s a question that some designers ask when they’re deciding whether or not to work with me.They ask because even though they’ve been at this a while, imposter syndrome kicks in.
It’s not about what I think. Do YOU think you have what it takes?
Your Next Level is Yours To Define
I’m not trying to be coy. What I favor in terms of aesthetic does not equal talent. I make my decision to work with someone based on fit. When clients and I choose to collaborate it’s because we like each other. They know that I am excited about and can help take them to their next level.
I like what I like.
Editors like what they like.
I’m sure most of your designer peers are very vocal about they like!
But whether or not we are in agreement on who has it, or not, is not really my business.
When it comes right down to it, talent and taste are subjective, so my opinion is pretty moot. I’ve worked with people who many would agree are talented. But they’re also committed to doing things in ways that don’t work for them. Others seem like the underdog at first glance. But they are so persistent in taking baby steps in the direction of their clearly defined vision, they can’t help but claim it.
Talent for me is a spectrum, a process; tiny seeds planted and unfolding over time. You may have a natural aptitude for something. But unless you acknowledge it, play with it, shape it, nurture your relationship to it, master the process of delivering it and reveal it, having talent probably won’t serve you or others.
Think Bigger
Ever since I was little, I’ve kept a diary, later I called it a journal. In other words, I’ve always written. Even when I started publishing articles in national publications, I never felt entirely comfortable with the moniker writer. I would compare myself to other writers I loved, usually with large bodies of work. I would think about the people who had criticized what I wrote, called it cute, or tried to diminish it and me in whatever way.
Using my voice is a privilege I take very seriously but my writing is also something my soul needs. I figure out things about myself, my life and my relationship with others when I write. Because I need writing for me first, I kept this part of my creativity hidden. If I didn’t call myself a writer, I had permission to write, to suck, to try things someone like me shouldn’t, on my own time. In fact the first time I contributed a monologue to a play featuring a collection of women’s voices with other more established writers, I said it was by “Anonymous” in the press release. I thought being invisible kept me safe, but I realized it kept me small and afraid and by opening night, I had claimed my name.
These days I’m hip to the fact that the criticism says more about the critic than it does my “talent”. I’m grateful my highest self didn’t listen to every blowhard who had an opinion because all of those twists, turns, mistakes, good projects and bad have lead me to this moment. I had no conscious expectation of ever writing a play, a screenplay or a book and now that I’ve done all of those things, I know I would have never been able to do them without the years of writing in my journal, for me alone.
The Risk Is Worth It
It’s only recently I’ve started to claim my identity as a writer, mostly. The perfectionist in me will always find something wrong. She looks for the level of something I can’t put my finger on (yet). It keeps me from fully owning that fundamental piece of my self-expression. I know it has to do with the gap between me now and where I could be and being formerly addicted to the hows.
The good news is that I’ve also given into the fact that this is a process, one that unfolds over time. I may like my work today and hate it tomorrow. Because I know my creative expression is part of my growth as a human being, my work may not always resonate with who I am right now. What I’ve also learned is that my uncertainty about my work’s quality, moment to moment, doesn’t make it any less valuable. In fact, for the people who find it long after I’ve moved on, it may be essential.
I risk being visible way more often now, not just because it’s my business but also because of one of its biggest gifts: connection. Expressing myself in this way, about this thing, at that time has helped me to find others who think, struggle and are moved in small ways by what I do. For some the impact has been powerful and it was unexpected and thrilling.
So whether or not you think you’re talented, or I think you’re talented, here’s what I can say. Achieving success—another one of those subjective concepts—is going to be rough if you keep getting in your own way. Have you defined what success means to you? Are you allowing somebody else’s judgment to influence what feels good for your soul? Or worse, are you constantly judgment of who you are and where you’re at in the spectrum of your life’s work, your process?