Doing Your Best?

People have been asking that all my life. It least it feels that way. When I was being honest, I answered, “No, I could do better.” Sometimes, I just reacted defensively, “I did do the best I could,” but I was bluffing, hoping to avoid criticism or punishment. Maybe, I upped the ante in my defense, “What I did was fine,” or at least, “What I did was good enough.”

I wish I’d answered, “Yes, and I’ll try to do better next time.” What kept me from that answer? What seems to so hard to admit – even to myself, especially to myself – is that I’ve done the best I could, and it wasn’t really very good or it wasn’t as good – not nearly as good as I’d hoped it would be.

Matthew told the story recently of getting out of bed with a ton of work on his plate and spending the day on the couch instead, playing games. I’ve been there too. Many times. It’s so hard in those moments to acknowledge that I’m doing the best I can. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m frightened that, if I give it a shot, my performance will fall abysmally short? Maybe, I need time to recoup my courage. Maybe I’m not as brave as I wish I was. Am I feeling sorry for myself? How can this possibly be the best I can do? I am horrified at the thought that lying on the couch is best I can do. I’d rather think of myself as lazy: If I wasn’t so lazy, I could do something terrific.

Maybe tomorrow I will, but today, perhaps, the best I can do is to lie on the couch and watch football. The fact that I’m doing the best I can do in this moment does not mean that I won’t be able to do better in the next. If I am lying on the couch, I’m lying on the couch. It takes practice to see the possibility that I my best in this moment may not be my best in the next.  

I’m having an interesting experience with my first novel. Dee and a few close friends read the first draft and encouraged me. I send the first pages and a cover letter off to a dozen literary agents. One responded that she wasn’t interested. The others didn’t respond at all. I was discouraged. Was that the best I could do? I let the novel sit, feedback from my friends percolating. If the agents read the first few pages, I hadn’t piqued any interest. How to hook them? My friend, Ed, suggested a filmmaker trick. I called it my “beware the ideas of March.” I rewrote the novel, got my soothsayer into the first chapter, and, while I was at it, did a lot of pruning. Off went a cover letter and early pages to another ten agents. This time four responded. None were interested. My soothsayer hadn’t hooked them either. Was that the best I could do? Was I too old to try this novel thing?

The novel sat again until I was ready to hear what the agents were saying. Early readers had told me, too, but I hadn’t been listening. It took me too long to get to the heart of the story. Rewriting again, I began on page 100 of the earlier draft, cut 100 pages of backstory – story I loved –although some has been spliced in later when needed. My novel is now a lot shorter. Is this my best draft? It’s the best I can do at this moment. So was the second draft and the first. Will an agent want to read more this time? Who knows? Maybe there’s another down the road. And, while I’m enjoying this moment, appreciating my best moment after moment, perhaps I’m ready to cut others some slack as well. Let’s look at that next week.