A Life Lesson From Kurt Vonnegut — Of All People

A cranky author presents a gem about embracing your art.

A week or two ago, a long-ish Kurt Vonnegut (1922–1977) quote was passed around Facebook. I’d come across it via a variety of Facebook friends — and friends of friends — to the point where I can’t reliably credit the original poster, but the quote itself is the point of this piece.

So let’s start with the words of noted author and professional grump, Kurt Vonnegut:

“When I was 15, I spent a month working on an archeological dig. I was talking to one of the archeologists one day during our lunch break and he asked those kinds of ‘getting to know you’ questions you ask young people: Do you play sports? What’s your favorite subject? And I told him, no I don’t play any sports. I do theater, I’m in choir, I play the violin and piano, I used to take art classes.

“And he went wow. That’s amazing! And I said, ‘Oh no, but I’m not any good at any of them.’

“And he said something then that I will never forget and which absolutely blew my mind because no one had ever said anything like it to me before: ‘I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.’

“And that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could ‘win’ at them.”

It’s a thoughtful anecdote. There’s a lot there to unpack. And I think it’s also something that different people are going to react to differently.

I think for me, it struck home because I’d repeatedly dealt with people telling me I wasn’t good enough to do something I enjoyed.

Each time that happened, it set me back. But eventually, I decided I wasn’t going to allow that to continue and give things a shot anyway.

On Art

I’d always wanted to be an artist, but I couldn’t draw. I had teachers in school tell me this. It didn’t matter how much I practiced. I just couldn’t get the hang of perspective. I wouldn’t learn until much later that a misalignment in my eyes means I have no depth perception, which was a contributing factor. But the point is that I didn’t get much encouragement when I was younger.

I quit drawing. Then I’d take it up again a year later. Then someone else would tell me I sucked at it. I’d quit. Then try again. But it was getting frustrating. Eventually, I figured, once I was told one-too-many times how bad I was, I’d quit for good.

Then one day, when I was trying yet again, I was sitting in the museum of the Rhode Island School of Design sketching a statue of Balzac by Rodin. The nude, barrel-chested Balzac stood in a blocky, defiant pose that was reasonably easy to draw, although I never got the arms quite right as they crossed his chest. Later, I tried a statue of Venus (I was an English major at a nearby state college with no ready access to real-life models), but her pose in my sketchbook was always awkward and stiff.

Then a man happened to come along who had been watching me. I think I assumed he was museum security just checking in, so I hadn’t paid too much attention to him. He struck up a conversation, determined I wasn’t a RISD student, but just some rando off the street trying to teach himself to draw. He gave me a few pointers about how shoulders and hips are angled and how to express depth. The conversation took all of five minutes. (Turns out, he wasn’t a plain-clothes security guard, he was the Dean of Fine Arts at RISD.)

My drawing improved significantly after that.

Over the years, I’ve actually had some success here and there as an artist. I’ve painted a few magazine covers. I’ve sold paintings in galleries and art festivals. I don’t pursue art as a career, but it’s a hobby I enjoy.

At best, I’m a middlin’ sort of artist. The point, though, is that I can enjoy what I’m doing even though I don’t possess a natural talent.

On Music

The same thing happened to me with music. I’d try to learn an instrument and then be told how awful I sounded and I should just quit.

I love the Irish tenor banjo. I found one at a flea market once and took it home, and started teaching myself. I had no access to real lessons. I couldn’t read music, but I was trying.

My girlfriend, at the time, hated it. Told me I’d never get it, and I should just cut my losses.

Like an idiot, I believed her.

Years later, a friend wanted me to strum some chords on a mandolin while he tried a lead piece on his guitar. He showed me some simple two-fingered chords and insisted anyone could do what he wanted me to do.

He was right. And I was enjoying myself.

My friend helped me find a cheap mandolin, and he taught me to read tablature and play simple melodies and chords. In passing, I learned that a mandolin’s tuning was the same as the Irish tenor banjo I tried years earlier.

I dug out the banjo, applied my simple lessons from the mandolin to that, and didn’t sound too awful. The Internet existed by then, and I learned more about how to play this banjo, traditional-Irish-style. I found nearby open traditional Irish music sessions, where I was welcome to sit in and learn tunes.

And for many years now, I’ve been playing the Irish tenor banjo, mandolin, guitar, and bodhran at local sessions. We don’t get paid. We play for fun. I’m not a professional-level musician. I still can’t read music. But I do well enough to have fun.

And that’s the point.

On Writing

You knew this would eventually hit upon writing. I won’t bore you with another long story of overcoming adversity in following an artistic pursuit. The long-story-short is that I experienced similar setbacks when I was learning to write.

Too many rejections and too many people shaking their heads no were really getting to me. And then there were eventually one or two people who encouraged me and helped me find my strengths.

And, most importantly, encouraged me.

Today, I make a living writing. And I enjoy it. And it’s exactly where I want to be.

Am I a great writer?

No. Not yet, at least.

But I like to think I get a little better each and every day. And I’m not letting it stress me out.

Back to Vonnegut

The Kurt Vonnegut quote reminded me that I don’t have to be the best at something to enjoy doing it.

I can simply enjoy doing it.

I would add that it helps when you get encouragement along the way. And I’ve found the best encouragement comes from those who say:

• You can do this thing.
• You’re learning. No one expects brilliance right at the start.
• What others think about your art isn’t important so long as you’re having a good time.

I’m over 50 years old. I’m still learning new things. Heck, I’ve always thought podcasts seemed like fun. I’ve got the software and am working on some scripts. I plan to start producing episodes next month with the goal of releasing them around the start of 2021.

They’re probably going to suck at first. Heck… they will suck at first. They may even still suck a year later, but if I have fun doing it, I’ll keep doing it. I’ll get better, or I won’t. Either way, it’s something I want to try, and I’m not going to let being bad at it block me.

What do you want to do?

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