Pretending to care about quality

We overemphasize the importance of quality in our own work.

Have you ever wanted to do something but gave up immediately because you weren’t perfect at it? There is so much that never was.

Perfect is the enemy of the good, but let’s talk about the more confronting side of the equation.

I will begin with a question you may have overheard at your local Target returns desk.

What gives you the right?

Yeah, you. How much hubris does it take to believe you can judge the quality of your own work, when you are just beginning?

If you’ve just started to write, what gives you the right to be so confident you can make it perfect?

The answer is nothing. Even if you read every day and know what quality writing looks like, you have no idea what it takes to create quality writing.

There is almost zero chance that you will happen upon it on your first attempt, or even your first hundred attempts. You are not qualified to think about quality.

Your definition of quality today will likely look like shit to you in a few weeks as you improve.

Pretending to care about quality is how we justify doing nothing.

In the search for quality you have produced nothing, which is far worse than imperfect. By saying ‘I’m a perfectionist’ instead of just doing, you lose. The worst part about this process is you have robbed yourself of the one thing that can solve the problem: quantity.

I don’t know what comes first between the chicken and the egg. With quality and quantity, it is very obvious that quantity comes first.

If you told me that you had made one pot in your lifetime and your friend has made 50, I would presume that your friend is far more capable at making a pot than you.

Quantity here means output. It means paint on canvas, failed businesses and time that felt wasted.

It is the single most important differentiator between those who create masterpieces and those who never create at all.

Every time I go on a snowboarding holiday the clips that get taken at the beginning of the trip are never used, because I get better. By the end of the trip I am riding much better and begin to focus more on quality.

No one denies that practice is important but people somehow believe they are qualified to create perfection from the beginning. It’s nice to dream, but…

What makes you think you’re so fucking special that you can worry about perfection before you have any idea what you’re talking about?

If you wish to be a writer, write. The only way through, is to do.

Instead of questioning whether your skill level is up to scratch, question your own ability to assess that at all.

It is only by doing, and doing a lot, that you can even begin to start worrying about curation and perfection.

There is a reason I publish articles every week. It is because every week feels like a lot. It means I am regularly scrambling to publish. Most importantly, it means I have to press send every week regardless of how I feel.

It is of course imperative for me to try and refine my own work, but not if it comes to the detriment of my output.

I’ve been doing this now for 35 weeks in a row and I can say first-hand that my ability to self-critique my own work has increased significantly.

As I write this I am a bit hungover on a Sunday morning. I’m probably not in the best mindset to be able to think about quality, but today is my deadline to publish.

I guess that is the perfect way to end this one, by hitting send and knowing that today’s quantity is another step toward tomorrow’s quality.