There are certain things in life that only come with experience. We learn, personality traits are tempered, our field of vision expands to include a more complete picture... all of these things require time.
I sort of hate that.
Its not that I doubt the validity of the idea that we grow wiser as we get older, but I don't like the idea of passively waiting for a wiser version of myself to emerge. She will, I'm sure, and will likely not do things like impulse buying sparkly black heels even though she only ever wears flats. But what am I to do with myself in the meantime?
I've been thinking about this as it relates to writing. I'm a young writer. All of my skills in that regard need tweaking and perfecting and polishing; and some need downright maturing. I'm like a cheese. I'm good now, but I might be better later. I don't want to rush out into the world incomplete and packaged in a flat plastic that is impossible to remove, but I don't want to wait around to become a tasty gouda, and miss my cheddar years.
Is anyone else confused by where I just took this metaphor? Too cheesy?
I know so little of what there is to know in the world. I've glimpsed the corner of writing, seen the beginnings of marriage, seen the briefest sliver of the design world. I feel like I know less about myself and my world that I did ten years ago, but I'll chalk that up to the intoxicating knowledge that accompanies teenager-dom.
I have no doubt that if I continue to practice the art of writing, that I will improve. Armed with this knowledge, it is severely tempting to save up all of my 'good ideas' for when the wiser, hopefully more ravishing, version of myself appears through the ethereal fog of my future. I don't want to waste a gouda idea (haha! That wasn't even intentional) on a cheddar set of skills.
Its very easy for me to be wrapped up in what I don't know. In how little experience I have, or, how much more experience everyone else seems to have. Every time I visit a writing blog, I learn something new about the writing process or publishing process that is absolutely daunting. I see all of the fancy cheese at the table, and I start to wonder if cheddar will be enough. Maybe I should wait until I'm a little more rounded, a little more seasoned, to really dig in and take my shot.
And then I think... naw.
I've always liked cheddar the best anyway. I don't wear high heels, half of my wardrobe is flannel, I jump into things with both feet, and that's how I learn. Give me a cheddar life. And later on, maybe I'll mature into one of those cheeses that come in the wax that I'm never sure if I'm supposed to eat or not. But in the meantime, I'll celebrate my cheddar-hood.