Memory Hole

A friend gave me a compliment yesterday. He said my work has improved a lot in the short time he’s known me. And I think he’s right.

I’m not bragging. Far from it.

It started when he sent me a picture of a wall I built four years ago, asking if I could search my memory hole for the type of stone I used. I surprised us both by remembering exactly. Then I joked that, in my memory hole, that wall looked a lot better than it did in the picture. He agreed.

Four years ago, when I finished that wall, I thought it was a masterpiece. Because it was better than most of the walls I’d built before, I assumed that meant it was great. At the time, it was the peak of my skill level. But now, four years later, I see it more clearly. It’s fine. Good, even. But it’s far from a masterpiece.

I’ve had this experience countless times. Isn’t it unavoidable in any creative field?

Twelve or so years ago, I built a wall for my friend’s mom. I was obsessed with it. I’d take pictures at the end of the day and stare at them in bed at night, mesmerized. In the history of stone walls, was this the best wall anyone had ever built?

I just took a break from writing this post to find a picture of it. Needless to say, it’s cringe.

Here’s the bad news: Compared to your current work, your old work is shit. And if you extrapolate that out, compared to what you’ll make someday, your current work is shit too. So really, you’re only ever doing shit work.

Now what do you do with that?

It sounds bleak, but I’m being overly nihilistic. There should be a natural evolution in our work. I should be better at my craft now than I was twelve years ago, or four years ago. I should be better today than I was yesterday.

I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful I’m growing. And I’m grateful I’m not paralyzed by the fear that someday, I might look back on what I’m doing now and cringe.