[TikTok user @saramics.pottery shapes a clay pot on a wheel while voiceover plays.]
[Punctuation added for readability.]
They say comparison is the thief of joy, or as my therapist likes to say,
"To compare is to despair." However! The other night, Danny (my middle school gifted and talented program rival, and a person I swore I would marry one day, until I confessed in high school and he told me he was gay) was over for dinner.
And we had an interesting conversation about comparing ourselves to others, and then quitting that thing we were comparing ourselves on. I mentioned that Danny was the reason I quit piano. And Danny was like, "What? Since when? That's so sad. Now I feel bad."
And I was like, "No no no, don't feel bad. I mean, it wouldn't be your fault either way, but you didn't make me quit piano because, like, 'Oh, you were so good and I'd never be as good as you, so I might as well quit.' It was more that I could learn Chopin or Mozart or whatever it was when it was taught to me at piano lessons…"
"But you would come over after school, sit down at my piano, and start playing stuff like the Pirates of the Caribbean theme which you had arranged by ear and taught to yourself. You were composing original pieces."
"And like, in a million years I would not have an intrinsic desire to just, do music theory shit. So seeing you do all of that unprompted, for fun, and being amazing at it, helped me realize that the parts of music that fascinate the people who love it… were not fascinating to me. Really, I just played the piano because I felt like I was supposed to, and because I was decent at it. So that same year, I quit."
And then Danny said something really interesting. He was like, "Oh, I see what you're saying. Then in that case, Patrick Dugan made me quit trumpet.
And I was like, "Uh, didn't he play upright bass?"
Now for context, remember that Danny was my gifted child rival. So basically everything he did, he was extremely, extremely good at. In high school, he was playing trumpet in the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra, like, downtown. And Patrick played bass at the CYSO as well.
So Danny was like, "Dugan made me realize that I didn't actually enjoy performing at a high level. High school band is one thing, but at a professional level, your obligation is to play it correctly every single time. And while I could do it, it made me feel like playing trumpet less."
"Dugan lived for the knife edge of performance. The pressure made it more exciting for him. I saw that and was like, 'Well, there's someone who has qualities that allow him to thrive as a professional musician. I do not have those qualities.' So I quit."
And I found this conversation extremely interesting. Like, it turns out that it's actually pretty difficult to tell the difference between something you're good at doing, and something you're meant to be doing. And in a way, even though comparing yourself to someone else can be very dangerous, it can also be very illuminating.
I know pottery is for me, because when I look at people whose pottery I think is better, or whose content is more successful… it might make me want to step up my game, and acknowledge that I'm not as good as I want to be. But it never makes me feel like quitting. I know I am in the right craft because I'd be doing it whether or not I was good and whether or not I was successful. I just love making pottery! And that's low-key the coolest feeling ever.
