I’ve hinted that I’m working on a new book — the second of a two-book deal —so I thought I’d share a bit about what this new book is about, and perhaps something of my process. Before I begin, I should confess that my process entails a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth: I am one of those people for whom writing is a tortuous affair, but who loves “having written.” I have a very close, very successful, multiple-New York Times-bestselling-novelist friend who tells me that when she is in the midst of writing a book, plots of future books are already dancing in her head. I can’t emphasize how much I’m the opposite of that friend. When I write, I am consumed by trying to wrestle the project into submission, to the point that I can think of very little else, even when I’m away from my laptop.
But anyway, about this book.
So it’s about being an amateur … and staying one. I have this theory that amateurism is actually good for us, and that in a culture where we are encouraged to excel at all costs, when we fall into the trappings of constantly becoming the best at [insert job/hobby/avocation here], we miss out on things like connection, self-compassion, and frankly, even mental and physical health. But because of social media/hustle culture/societal and even familial pressure, actually pursuing amateurism can feel like laziness or simply the hallmark of a slacker. But I believe that being an intentional amateur is what keeps you healthy, alive, and interesting.
When I first decided to explore this topic, I was surprised at how little I could find about it. It seems that most people who have written about amateurism do so either as a counterpoint to turning pro in sports, or else the write about “amateur mindset” as a strategy for eventual mastery, excellence or ruling the world. I could find nothing on amateurism for amateurism’s sake. And so, taking the advice of renowned author Toni Morrison (“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it”), I pitched the idea of amateurism to my publisher, and happily, they agreed.
So, my friends, I’m in the thick of it: researching the topic, and experimenting with it in my own life (resulting, so far, in surfing lessons, a new swimming practice, and decidedly wonky pottery — see Exhibit A, above). It’s slow going, but I’ve come up with a list of attributes that I think are necessary to ensure staying in an amateur mindset without succumbing to perfectionism or the need to be the best. And perhaps the most foundational of these attributes is curiosity. Curiosity about activities that sound interesting to try, yes, but also curiosity about what happens in the actual attempt. Curiosity about why certain activities frustrate you, while others energize you. Curiosity about your past, remembering what you used to love, and exploring why you don’t do them anymore. Curiosity about the things that you’ve always meant to do, and curiosity about what’s stopping you. And of course, curiosity about what propels you to be the best at something — and curiosity about what might happen if you stopped trying to be the best.
As I play with various activities, I know that some of them will likely stick — become full-on avocations — and others will likely fall by the wayside. But the beauty of writing a book is that because I have to turn in a manuscript at some point, I’m committed to this process of curiosity. And like my previous books, I’m interviewing folks, people who enjoy doing things purely for the sake of doing things, with no attachment to excellence, which is always fun. But I have to say, finding these folks is a bit of a challenge. So I’d be really interested in hearing about what sorts of things you find time to do, purely for the pleasure of doing them, even if the truth is you’re not all that good at it.
Share your passions of eh-that’s-good-enough with me, friends. And for bonus points, let me know what light these passions bring to your life.
office hours
Just a heads up that there are a few more openings for April Office Hours this week and next: we’ll meet one-on-one for 50 minutes and you can ask me any questions about anything that you have on your mind: a business or book idea you'd like some feedback on, or questions about something I've written (here, The Lightmaker's Manifesto, Radiant Rebellion) or said on a podcast, or anything else. Simply click here to book your time (each session is only $75!), and once booked, you’ll receive a Zoom link.
I can’t wait to witness your magic and light!
Oh I have been thinking about this topic a TON because last year, as I began the move into my late forties, I started a HOBBY. I absolutely love —and *so much* of my pleasure is derived from — how much of an amateur I am at it!!
It's an art form I've loved since I was a tween, but never thought *I* would actually get to make: automata. Little machines that, when you turn a handle, do a thing. (technically, they don't have to be little — grandfather clocks and gramophones are automata — I just only have the capability to make little ones). I did an online course a year ago (with the wonderful Cabaret Mechanical Museum, the place I visited as a tween) and then, to make sure I kept it up, I invited my classmates (from across the globe) to meet on Zoom with me once a month for two hours. I cannot stress how talented everyone else in my "automata club" is — they can carve wood, beautifully paint, and come up with complex contraptions I never could, while I'm mostly stringing together bits of wire with garbage I find in my house. But weirdly, this doesn't make me feel in any inadequate, only delighted.
I think that's because I've very much placed this in my head as HOBBY — I'm *so* far behind them that there's no way I'd ever be even close to selling one of these. Another interesting note for me is that — in spite of being kind of a showboat, and someone who's fairly active on social media — I haven't posted a SINGLE THING about this online (until now, lol). This has been very intentional; I know that if I'm making these (or "tinkering", as we say in automata circles!) with a view to showing them off on insta, I'll feel very differently than if they're just for me and my friends. The stakes become much higher. I'm worried I'll no longer delight in my amateurism, and might get frustrated by it.
It's honestly one of the things that gives me most pleasure in the whole world. When i'm tinkering, I feel connected to myself and the universe, and feel deeply at peace in a way that only being consumed by art can make me feel (but having never before in any way considered myself an "artist", this is new for me! The closest I've come to this feeling has been when I've darned socks).
Anyway, a very very long-winded way of saying YES TO AMATEURISM!!! And thank you for writing about this, both here and in the forthcoming book. I absolutely agree about how important it is, now more than ever.
I cannot wait to read this book! It's a topic I've thought quite a bit about in recent years, and I have thoughts! So interested in learning what you learn about this.
When I was a kid, I had a brief but intense period of training as a figure skater, where the only goal worth pursuing was the Olympics. (Ironically, you had to be an "amateur" to compete there back then, which was part of the problem. It required so much financial sacrifice to reach the top levels of competition.) Quitting was so hard that I didn't step on the ice again for years, and then only rarely. A little more than two years ago, after 45 years, I started skating regularly again, at age 57. (I wrote a bit about what that meant in my old blog: http://ritaottramstad.com/making-doing/becoming-a-unicorn/)
It's easy to stay in amateur mode with something like skating, where the physical realities of being nearly 60 mean that many things are out of reach. (Never going to land a double Axel!) Although I could compete, so many things are just not possible, which feels like a gift. I'm glad to have the constraints I have because it makes it easier to stay in a place of doing something just for the joy of it. It's been a journey, working through what I want this thing to mean in my life when being amateur is the only option.
Now, writing...that's a different thing. At one time I wanted to be pro, and I've got a published book in my history. I'm not too old (maybe) to go pro in that arena. But I feel very, very ambivalent about the whole idea of that. I'm wondering if you're looking at what it means to choose to be amateur in something you could pursue in a different way vs. being amateur because being "pro" isn't much of a possibility?