Leaders or artists have similar practices, even when their output or circumstances are different.
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Chapter 5: Finding a Practice
Notes
We should approach the stories of our “creative heroes”—people who have made, or are making, the type of difference we would like to see—not as (“industrial-strength”) recipes to follow, but as instances that reveal “surprising truths.” This chapter lists a number of them, all of which Seth promises we’ll return to as an antidote to the recipes we’ve been taught.
Here’s a sampling (out of 14):
- Perfectionism has nothing to do with being perfect.
- Reassurance is futile.
- There’s no such thing as writer’s block.
- We become creative when we ship the work
The idea is to replace recipes with a practice. Each of these truths is meant to move us in that direction.
Thoughts
I recognize a few of the “truths” that Seth lists; I’ve heard him “riff” on several of them, and I’m usually convinced by his arguments. For example, the notion that perfectionism has nothing to do with being perfect—that it’s an excuse or cop out, rather than a desire to get things right—makes a lot of sense. I’m not sure that I’m a perfectionist, per se—I don’t think I believe that “perfect” is an actual thing, anyway. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t fall for the same trap, the idea that what I’m working on isn’t good enough. And “good enough” functions pretty much the same as “perfect.”
So far, The Practice has been relatively theoretical—making the case, setting up the argument. But reading somewhat closely like this—distilling and processing each chapter—has already helped: I’ve been relistening to Andrew Sheps’ series of (very) long-form interviews with Steve Lillywhite1 and I find that I’m hearing what he says differently than before. The first time, I was listening for things I might do when working on my music—tactics for getting good sounds, or developing an efficient workflow, etc. I remember being a bit frustrated at the time because, in over 7 hours of conversation, he said almost nothing about what he’d done in the studio.
But now that I’m listening for something other than a recipe, I’m hearing things that didn’t register before—things about his punk attitude, about embracing imperfection, about refusing a set workflow in order to resist complacency. It feels like a different interview now.
All of this is to say that—even though I knew better—I think I was expecting Seth to compile a list of rule-like aphorisms (“write every day!”). But that would be too much like a recipe. A practice—and I think that indefinite “a” is more appropriate than the definite “the” of the book’s title—is more about attitudes than about actions. The actions will follow the attitudes, but that’s the key: the actions need to follow the attitudes. Otherwise, you’re just following a recipe.
And it dawns on me: at the literal level, I’ve been grateful for recipes. I’ve made fairly tasty dishes; I’ve started baking bread; I’ve been building various cocktails. All this has been possible because I can follow recipes. But I’ve also felt a little dissatisfaction that I need recipes—that I don’t really know how to cook, or bake, or bartend. That’s okay in these areas—the value of the recipes outweighs the dissatisfaction and, if I really cared, I could spend the time to learn what’s behind the recipes.
But with music, or with writing, I’m not satisfied with that. I need to build a practice.
This series is meant to capture my thoughts as I work through Seth Godin’s The Practice. It’s a book with over 200 (very short) chapters, which I hope to work through and, I further hope, to implement over time.
If you’re interested in more of Godin’s ideas, or my thoughts about them, you can check out this collection of posts. Note that if you’re more interested in the former, you should probably get Godin’s book and read it yourself; my notes will be both incomplete and idiosyncratic, and my thoughts will relate to my own experience.
But if my thoughts resonate with you, or if you think I’m just silly, I welcome your comments.