Five years ago I painted this masterpiece:
No – you’re not imagining things. That is a handpainted Harry Potter penguin piggy bank. Now say that twelve times back to me.
This is the type of creative achievement that us common folk take pride in. The people who can’t draw a proportional circle, let alone anything half decent. It’s essentially paint-by-the-number, only with slightly more vision.
I took a lot of pride in this creation. Scanning through old photos, I would pause on this one and think: “That wasn’t half bad.” She’ll disagree, but it is hands down my favorite gift I have given Anne.
One day a couple of years ago, Harry Potter took a dive off our shelf, and we lost him forever. I’m convinced there was foul play involved, but Anne swears he fell of his own accord. Why would she lie? Now this picture is all the evidence that remains of my talent for paint-your-own-pottery, and I’m left to stare at it occasionally and remind myself that I created something half-decent.
The same thing happens with my writing. Every so often I spend an hour or so re-reading a lot of my work on this site, clicking through the Random Posts widget on the homepage and reminding myself of things I’ve done over the past few months. As it was with my penguin, I really enjoy doing this.
I did some light research to see if I was alone in this – Google: “Should you read your own writing?” – because it feels absolutely bizarre that I like reading myself so much. And based on the handful of Medium posts and Reddit threads that appeared, it seems like this is, in fact, unusual. Most people don’t like reading their own writing.
Part of the enjoyment I get from reading my work is the shock and awe of having created anything at all. This is the first time – save for my penguin – that I’ve made anything I can look back on. My re-reads are reminders that I’ve gone and created something tangible, even if no one else in the world wants to read it.
I liken this to looking at yourself in the mirror after a workout, or checking your savings account after a paycheck. It’s all about tracking progress, signaling to our inherently lazy and undisciplined selves that consistency and hard work are paying off with larger muscles and account balances.
The truth is that it pays to be your own biggest fan. No one else is going to be. Even my mom, who loves me and supports me, doesn’t read everything on this site. Neither does Anne. For some reason we shy away from self-indulgence because it feels cocky, or narcissistic, but I don’t see it that way.
To anyone else, my penguin was junk. But I thought it was awesome, and that’s all that matters.