Living for the Sake of it
Written by Nia Mahmud
Graphics by Jasmine Flora
I’ve always needed someone to tell me that I was good enough. I thrived off of small plastic trophies, certificates, and gold stars as a child. Nothing short of a pat on the head could affirm that I was exceptional, and I needed to be exceptional. Of course, my endless pining for perfection only ever ended in disappointment. Recently, I’ve confronted my notion of ‘good enough’ and reevaluated what I should be making space for in my life. I’ve trashed all the medals that I placed on a pedestal and started to put my happiness on top.
When I was in elementary school, I loved art. I especially loved drawing with my great-grandmother. Some of my best memories are when I would sit down at her dining room table coloring outside of the lines in coloring books. When my great-grandmother would ask how school was going, she would always ask about what I had painted or drawn recently. Art wasn’t only fun for me, it felt important- just as important as reading, math, or science. So like in other subjects, I felt the need to excel.
Thinking back on this time in my childhood, I can see how my definition of ‘excelling’ shifted as I got older. When I was five or six, excelling meant coloring in the lines or having my drawing hung in my dad’s office. At seven or eight, I aspired to have my painting hung in the hallways at school or to be praised in class.
At nine, I was finally old enough to join the art club at school. This was something I had looked forward to for as long as I could remember. Once I finally got there, though, I couldn't help but think about all the ways it didn’t live up to my expectations. It was the first time I gave thought to the quality of my art and not just the fun I had making it. I didn’t win contests or receive praise, but I wanted to. I wanted making masterpieces to come as naturally to me as it seemed to for others.
When my definition of excelling in art shifted to needing to be the best, it stopped being fun. I would get frustrated if an art project didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, or if it looked childish. My art wasn’t supposed to look childish, it needed to look good. After art club, after elementary school, I stopped drawing and painting. If I wasn’t good at it, it could no longer make me happy.
Stopping art had larger implications in the long run. Everything I did served a larger purpose, and if it didn’t, then it was cut from my schedule. Now, as a high schooler, I can see how this mindset was present in every aspect of my life. I know that it didn’t start because of art, and it didn’t end there either. I’ve always had this deep-rooted aversion to mediocracy. Now, I find myself questioning what the point is. Why was I so afraid of being 'average' that I stopped doing things I enjoyed?
I think I felt embarrassed to spend time on things that I wasn’t good at. What’s so embarrassing about that? About doing something for the sake of it? In recent years, I’ve stopped and looked around at my life. In doing so, I found I was unfulfilled by everything I saw. I did things for the sole purpose that it would help me later down the line. At some point, it became difficult to discern if I was doing things because I wanted to, or because I felt I needed to.
I’ve begun to make room in my schedule for things I enjoy. The concept of having to set aside time in a schedule to do things I enjoy seems contradictory. But ultimately, it’s helped me remember who I was before everything I did needed to have a purpose. Seeking validation in praise from others instead of from myself was an endless pursuit. When it came down to it, no number of accomplishments could fix my relationship with my reflection.
On days where prioritizing myself is difficult, I think back to the days where enjoying something was all that mattered. If I had fun drawing, or dancing, or singing, who cared that I wasn’t good at it? The days I spent at my great-grandmother’s dining room table remind me that art is important. Doing things you enjoy, just for the sake of it, is important.