the wrong crayon
the magic and mystery of a C minus
“Kathryn has no standards.”
This was my kindergarten teacher, addressing my mother.
“The other children will draw pictures when I prompt them, but Kathryn doesn’t even try. She just leaves the paper blank.”
My mother bristled. “Kathryn’s standards are so high that she’s terrified of choosing the wrong crayon.”
*
When and why did I begin believing that I only deserved to take up space if I was perfect? Why do I demand so much more from myself than I do everyone else? How much of my life has been sacrificed to this drive for immaculacy? When will I understand that there’s no such thing as a correct crayon?
*
One day last year, I noticed a pattern: other people were a lot happier with my work than I was. (I know how facepalm-obvious this sounds. Bear with me.) The essay, article, or report that felt like a C- to me was an A+ to everyone else. My idea of A+ work was probably actually closer to an A++++++, which does not exist and is therefore impossible to achieve.
And when I demanded A++++++ work from myself, did I do better? Did I do more? Did I do it at all? No. I froze, convinced that I’d pick the wrong crayon and ruin everything. The night before a major project was due, my page was consistently still blank.
I went over to my art supplies and grabbed a handful of markers. I sketched the message in fast, scribbly strokes, and taped it to the wall directly across from my workspace.
C- says let’s experiment and see what happens.
C- says can we play?
C- says mistakes are how we learn.
C- says you don’t need to earn your place here. you are already enough.
*
A few weeks ago I got an idea for a silly poetry comic. As I was writing the concept down, I realized it was a great opportunity to practice aiming for a C-.
I told myself that I wouldn’t spend more than 2 hours on the comic, and that I wouldn’t try to make it look like a professional did it, because I’m not a professional (and also I was doing this for fun, and self-judgment…isn’t fun?).
Drawing the comic kept me occupied through my daily illness crash. By the time I was able to get up to make dinner, I had a goofy, sloppy, amateur-looking, C- comic that was bright and colorful and made me laugh.
I shared the comic on Instagram and, amazingly, no one said “This is bad, and you are a waste of oxygen.” In fact, people seemed to like it. And if they hadn’t, I still would have been ok.
Aiming for a C- not only allowed me to make something I wouldn’t have made otherwise. It also gave me a joyful, stress-relieving focus during a difficult moment. It created a field in which to play—and in playing, I learned. I got to practice color, perspective, and shading, all of which are difficult for me because I’ve been too scared of failing to even attempt them. I got to share something silly with people I like. I made something imperfect—as all things are!—and survived.
*
I’ve been preaching the gospel of C- to loved ones. After contemplating the idea for a few minutes, one brilliant and high-achieving friend said, slowly, with astonishment and a little bit of heartbreak in her voice, “A C- student is…still lovable.”
I hadn’t even thought of it in those terms, but yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes.
An A+ student is no more deserving of love (or crayons, or paper, or space, or life) than anyone else. When I look at a blue jay, I don’t think, If that bird doesn’t do backflips, she doesn’t deserve to exist. I think, Oh wow! A bird! The jay is alive, and she is here, and this is enough.
Who am I, and how could I be so singularly wretched, that the same is not true of me?
*
Bless the tiny child who believed she had to do the impossible. Bless my 40-year-old self, just beginning to reconsider. Bless the blue jay, the shitty comics, the box of all-wrong/all-right crayons. Bless the determined little creature inside me, weird and wonderful, just as she is.
mini-workshop mini-update
It seems like there is indeed some interest in mini-workshops (hooray!). Here are the dates, for those of you who like to plan ahead:
Hello, Snail: Writing Comic Haiku—Saturday, June 22, 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. ET
Writing for Tired People—Sunday, October 13, 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. ET
other things i wrote
This month at The Last Word on Nothing: the feral parakeets of Chicago.
A bad museum date in 2016 turned into a pretty good poem the following year. Even the museum liked it.
tenderness toward existence days
CW: Food mention
March holidays are a bit of a mess, y’all. So many observances I never, ever want to celebrate (“Act Happy Day”? Hard pass), and a few gems clustered around the same weekday squares on the calendar.
Thursday, March 14
Pi Day / Bake a Pie in Solidarity Day
Learn About Butterflies Day / Moth-er Day / Save a Spider Day
Tuesday, March 19
Ostara / Spring Equinox
Snowman Burning Day
Tuesday, March 26
Make Up Your Own Holiday Day
(I did not make that up)
(but I hope you will invent a holiday)
(and tell me about it)
Thanks for reading all the way to the end. I am so, so glad you’re here.
BELATED LIFE UPDATE: I am building a raised garden bed. The screws are crooked and sometimes stripped. The wood cuts are splintery. It is the most C- thing I have done in a very long time. I think about this post ALL THE TIME as I do my half-assed drilling.
My son is very much a perfect crayon person, to the point where, in middle school (and possibly to this day) he would freeze before writing assignments because he wanted to have everything worked out before the first word was put to (virtual) paper.
Going to a gradeless school like New College was exceptionally liberating for just this reason, I think. It's all C-, or A+ work. Just doing the work matters. Along the way, I fell in love with Sebadoh music and raku pottery, and the beautiful flaws, and leaning into the wobbly bits because they're more fun than Euclidean geometry.
(Not sure how you ever wound up doing perfect words with my very lo-fi music, but I'm very glad you did, back when.)