I Will Never Be That Good
I will never be that good. I will never be successful.
I hear this a lot in many circles: in writing, in dance, in most other creative outlets I’m a part of or know people in. I see famous authors tweeting out that their writing is crap because it isn’t like someone else’s. I see dancers desperately trying to dance/look just like their idols, but lamenting over how they can’t do one trick or another.
I, too, find myself watching other dancers, or reading other people’s books, and putting myself down the entire time: “I can’t do that trick.” “I can’t write such evocative prose.” “I will never be able to do the splits.”
I get depressed over the lack of time I have to completely change the direction of my dancing and writing skills to go after the ones I do not possess, to be just like someone I admire. I feel the pull to dance just like that famous dancer or write just like that famous writer. The thought presses down on me: I will never be successful unless I change how I do my art.
I’m going to borrow a phrase from British English here: bollocks.
We should never change ourselves or our art to please others.
My prose is not flowery and flowy. I will never make you cry over the beauty of my words. My stories hit you in the face like a ton of bricks, ripping open feelings and picking through them like birds with entrails. This does not make me a bad writer. My dance is not light and feminine and playful, nor is it hip hop or ballet. My dance is a powerful blend of styles, with knife-sharp isolations and musicality (also kind of like a ton of bricks to the face). This does not make me a bad dancer.
I may lament those lacks, and feel the pressure to change, but that’s not going to do me any favors. While I might not make you cry over the beauty of my words, I can certainly disturb you with the dark imagery I spill onto the page. The important message here is that neither is better than the other.
To force myself to change these things about my art would change me and how I express myself. It would be inauthentic. The one thing that we do not seem to tell other artists enough is that being yourself will lead to your success.
Authenticity is a cornerstone of artistic expression. Art comes from within, and people tend to notice when artists aren’t “feeling it.” To me, authenticity is part of that elusive “it factor” that some artists have. We can’t describe “it” but we sure know star power, the “it factor,” when we see it.
Once I came out as trans, people started telling me that they have noticed how my dancing has changed, and that has changed how they see me as a dancer. I was literally told that they can’t believe the progress I’ve made as a dancer in the short time since I’ve come out. While some of that is definitely training, a lot of it is being authentic. I can finally express, through my art, who I really am inside.
In my writing, I got nowhere with stories about women. I then started writing trans-related stories and essays, and suddenly I’ve sold three of them. All I did was refocus my efforts into being authentic and into writing characters that I identified with because I was just like them.
So don’t worry about whether you can do this trick or that trick, or write that genre or that way. If you really want to learn it, that’s great. I’m always all about challenging ourselves to stretch and learn and grow (we should always be learning!). But if it feels inauthentic, or doesn’t work with your style, stop saying how bad you are for not being just like that other artist. Stop putting yourself down because you aren’t just like some famous person. Be you instead, and train to be the best you you can be. No one else can be you.