In real life, things aren't always polished.
Ever notice that so much of social media is full of shiny, happy people? Everything is beautiful and perfect and tidy. There’s a place for everything, and things are magically all in their assigned spaces.
The reality is that things aren’t always polished. There’s a lot of sweat and diligent work going on that isn’t “public-facing”, so that what you see online looks prettier than what every day really looks like.
It’s not that what you see online is untrue, but it’s a cleaner, shinier version of things. Take these photos, for instance, which I took the other day after I exercised and spent time weeding out in the sun:
The first image you see is the one I put through some presets in Lightroom. It’s the result of several takes. I am still obviously a sweaty mess, but I kinda like how I look, and it’s not embarrassing to share it.
The second photo is the one I took when I first came in. I legit sat down, put the camera into front-facing mode, and snapped a point-the-camera-to-capture-my-hot-sweatiness photo.
That second photo is not flattering.
It is real, though. I didn’t look great in that moment after yoga and stretching, then lots of pulling weeds in the yard in the hot sun. And I felt tired and, to be honest, a bit frustrated. It’s all there, in photo two.
I absolutely enjoyed my time out back. The birdsong and sunshine were spectacular. But all that effort, heat, and sunshine also meant I had sweat running down my butt crack. Because things here are suuuuper glamorous.
Another thing I realized while I was in the yard? Weeding is just like writing.
Which is to say that writing and weeding are sometimes—or maybe usually—thankless tasks.
They require time and effort. They are occasionally painful. It’s easy to feel that it might be pointless, because other people do not see or appreciate what you have been doing.
Once I was done weeding, it was difficult to see how any progress had been made, unless I looked at the pile of weeds that I’d pulled out of the yard. But that is more than 100 weeds that are no longer growing out back, and I have to be satisfied that I put in my time and effort, even if there is still so much more to be done.
There is also the possibility that no matter how much weeding (or writing/editing) I do, there are always weeds that get away from me. There comes a time in every weeding session where I decide that it has to be good enough, even though there might still be weeds I couldn’t get to.
The same goes when writing poetry or a longer manuscript, when I sometimes have to stop a writing session in the middle of a shitty draft. Or when revising or editing. There are words that don’t necessarily belong, or parts I can’t get to.
Even when a project is done, so many authors continue to find places that in their work that they want to “fix”, even if the manuscript has been published.
Whether you are weeding or writing, it is like that for ALL of us. We put in our effort—working on an outline, drafting a piece of writing, or editing a manuscript. Creating a painting or other piece of art.
It’s not glamorous and most people wouldn’t even notice that anything changed.
But the truth is that it did change. Progress may be slow, but it has been made.
Whether that poem or story you are writing ultimately works or not, it has taught you something. You have advanced your skills as a writer. You have done what you could to make the world a better place.
In the case of weeding, that messy, sweaty photo that isn’t cleaned up and polished is the proof that I did it—not that I actually need to prove that to anyone but myself. Yet for that reason, it has just as much value as that cleaned-up photo on the left, where everything looks happy and (relatively) good.
If there’s a moral at the end of this story, I think this is it:
