A Winning Hand

Shortly after I finished my book, I was speaking on the phone with Erika, the lady who was going to edit the book for me.  She said she was excited and that she couldn’t wait to read it.  I told her not to get too excited because I didn’t even really know if it was any good.  I mentioned that I’d been reading a novel by Pearl S. Buck and (because Pearl S. Buck was a brilliant writer) I was having a lot of self-doubt over the slop I’d written.  She told me that I shouldn’t compare my writing to anyone else’s.  Although I knew she was right, I still couldn’t help thinking that what I wrote seemed like it was written by a ten-year-old.  I realize that the best way to feel bad about myself in any area, is to compare what I’ve done to what someone else has done, and that it’s even dumber to compare my work to the work of one of the “Greats”–in this case, one who won the Pulitzer Prize.  

It’s not the first time I’ve compared myself to other people and ended up feeling like I got the short end of the stick.  And I don’t think I’m the only one who has felt that way.  That kind of thinking is a bad habit and like any other bad habit, I have to put forth a conscious effort to stop doing it.  I try, but it’s not always easy, so I remind myself that even though I can’t ever remember how to jump start a car (red on dead, or something?  I dunno), I am good at other things.

When I think about people and the things they’ve got going for them, I have a scenario in mind of how everything works.  I imagine God, sitting up in the sky and he’s got a never-ending deck of cards that he deals out when people are conceived.  They’re just like regular playing cards (Aces, Kings, Queens, etc.) but instead of suits like spades and hearts, the suits are things like looks, intelligence, different artistic abilities, charm, and so on.

I imagine Pearl S. Buck got an Ace in the writing suit.  But that doesn’t mean she got high cards in any of the other suits.  Some people get dealt an Ace in looks, but they may have gotten a two in hand-eye coordination.  Remember that movie, A Beautiful Mind?  It was based on a true story about John Nash.  He was a mathematical genius, who also happened to be a paranoid schizophrenic.  He was blessed with an Ace in mathematical intelligence, but the poor guy got a two or three in the mental health suit.  As nice as it would be to be that smart, I’d rather get dealt a three in math smarts and at least a ten in mental health than to get dealt what he got.

You’ve heard of people who could “sell sand in the desert”, or people who never met a stranger.  Some people sound like angels when they sing, while the rest of us sound like dying hyenas.  Everyone is good at something, some people are competent at a lot of things, and some people are great at one or two things but lacking in a bunch of other areas.  We’re all different, but not only are we different, we also complement each other.  A great example is my sister and me.  She’s outgoing and people warm up to her within minutes.  When we go somewhere together, she does all the talking and I just kind of stand there, listening.  She saves me from struggling to make small talk.  When she needs help writing something, she calls me and I save her from struggling with something she doesn’t like to do.

I know an accountant who will tell you that she “only” has an Associates Degree, but she can run circles around any CPA I’ve ever met.  Her brain just works that way, so instead of comparing myself to her and wishing that I also got an Ace in accounting, I ask her for help when I don’t understand something.  I’m not sure what I bring to the table, but I hope I’m helpful in one way or another.

I’m not going to stop reading great books, but I’m also not going to keep comparing my writing to what I read.  It’s pointless, really.  I’ll never write like Stephen King (I love me some SK) or Pearl S. Buck.  I simply wasn’t dealt the same hand that they were, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  If I concentrate on learning from the masters instead of comparing myself to them, my writing will inevitably improve, and my mind will be too occupied to allow self-doubt to fester.

The moment we look at someone else and start to compare ourselves, what we’re good at, or what we have, is the exact same moment that we really do ourselves a disservice.  Just because Jane is drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t mean that she is a good conversationalist.  Bob might be a great builder (see what I did there?), but that doesn’t mean he can balance his checkbook.  Vincent van Gogh cut off his ear and took it to a prostitute, so even though he got an Ace in artistic ability, it’s obvious that the mental health (and the thoughtful gift-giver) cards were low ones.

The Big Dealer man upstairs knew what he was doing when he dealt our hands to us, and anyway, this game of life isn’t a competition against other players, so why make comparisons?  We may look at the hand we were dealt and all we see is a fistful of threes, while the guy next to us is holding a pair of Aces.  But we have to remember that we’re not playing against him, and if he wins the pot, he’s probably going to share his winnings.  Plus, even if we were playing against him, the only hands that beat four threes are a straight flush and a royal flush, so either way, we’re still holding a winning hand.