Your Best Is Good Enough, So Go Do It and Feel Proud That You Did!

During my college years, I took a few classes that I thought would be fun and push my boundaries beyond the comfort zone. Some, like “Medieval Theories for Practicing Monks,” were just plain boring, and others I failed to conquer, like music theory. I love music but I would rather sleep during Beethoven’s “Turkish March” than try to figure out why he chose to add a hint of woodwinds during the sonata.

Speech class was a favorite because I could use my writing and talking skills, and I am a good talker. In fact, my best girlfriend’s Dad once told me once that I loved to hear my own voice more than any other sound. If memory serves, he also said I was full of hot air. I don’t think that was a compliment, though he may have been trying to tell me to change from music theory to playing the tuba. 

I also took acting classes, which were fun, and I even passed Acting 1. I thought I was on my way to Broadway! Acting 1 was about experiencing how our bodies related to art. We would laugh out loud, and do weird exercises, like stand in a circle and pass someone’s prone body from one person to the next, until each person ended back in their original place. It was a bit disturbing swapping sweat with strangers, and their body odors were, let’s just say, not very appealing. But it was better than listening to Classical music and it kept me awake.

I got all A’s in English and writing, because I can weave a story out of anything

Next I took Acting 2, hoping it would be a bit more advanced and involve “real” acting, but that was not the case. We did get to pretend to be someone from the past — I chose Annie Oakley. But all we did was stand still like museum statues; it was more like trying not to breath than acting. We also had to write a play in Acting 2. I got all A’s in English and writing, so I was excited. English is hard, but I can weave a story out of anything which is why I did well. (It’s the dangling participles I couldn’t conquer.)

The problem was, the professor never taught us how to write a play. He just gave us handouts from some old mimeograph machine (remember the purple print and that wonderful inky smell?), with sloppy instructions that were full of grammatical errors (more on that later) and just plain daft. But being the overachiever that I am, I went Full Monty and began writing my play. I spent hours and hours working on the plot and characters, and most of it was about me, whom I knew well. It was a true love story, but one that sucked in real life, so I gave it a more positive ending.

I was proud of my efforts. Once I handed it in, it seemed like forever until I got it back. I knew I was on my way to Broadway, for sure this time. I was singing in the rain and even practiced my Annie Oakley posturing. I tossed and turned at night, praying that Beethoven’s 5th symphony would finally leave my brain so I could focus on my newfound playwriting skills. Finally, I got called in to speak with my professor. As I waited for him to meet with me, I looked around his office and noticed not one piece of memorabilia from his days as an actor or playwright.

This play was about my life, and since I lived the conclusions, I knew the emotion and reality of the situation.

To put it mildly, I left his office in tears. The meeting started with an “Ahem!” and then he lit me up like bad fireworks. There were more red circles than text on the page. He highlighted what he perceived as grammatical errors with a yellow marker. (My Dad taught English, so I knew grammar!) The worst part was that he questioned my story line and how I came to some of the conclusions. Now, as I said, this play was about my life, and since I lived the conclusions, I knew the emotion and reality of the situation. “Ahh, but you are wrong Judith. This is not how it would have played out in real life.” I mean, was he kidding me?

This was my first stab at playwriting, I didn’t expect it to be my best. And this was probably not the greatest story he had ever read. But, while sitting in his creepy, broken-down zebra chair, and listening to his critique, my world came crumbling down. Writing had felt like second nature to me, and I had started at a very young age. Sadly, however, the critical and hateful words he used destroyed every bit of my confidence. Not only was I a failure in my relationship, I also sucked at writing about it too, apparently. So I stopped writing for many years. I couldn’t do it anymore. The joy was gone. When he tore my play apart, he broke my heart, too.

I know better now that, when someone tells you that you are not talented enough or good enough, they are probably wrong. Yet at that time and on that day, I was in such despair that I was sure I would never make something of myself or use the gift of writing that had been passed down in my family for years. Sara Teasdale, the poet and one of my descendants, said it best: “It is strange how often a heart must be broken before the years can make it wise.”

We don’t always recognize when we have received a lesson from life, but when we do we should put it to good use.

We don’t always recognize when we have received a lesson from life, but when we do we should put it to good use. A few years ago, I realized that my professor was wrong and decided to take a leap and get back to one of my passions. It took many years to regain my confidence and my “Judy swagger,” but I did start to write again. And when I took pen back to paper, I felt reborn. I know that not everyone likes my style, and I’m okay with that because I love my style. Writing drives me, it fulfills me, and it makes me happy. 

Okay, as a writer I know that every story needs a moral, so here’s this one’s: Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are not good enough, because they are liars. Everyone has a dangling participle to deal with. Everyone must start somewhere. There may not be any guarantees that what we try first will work out. We may need to experiment to find our passion, at first, but we all find our way. 

It took awhile to find what drives me, but now that I am back in the saddle, I feel empowered and happy. I have been published a few times, and often I’m asked to submit articles on many subjects. Nothing huge, but I have contributed. So, if someone tells you that you can’t, just take a leap and show them that you can. You don’t have to be the best at anything to be fulfilled by something. Maybe you can win a Tony Award, or maybe you just enjoy tap-dancing in your kitchen. Your best is good enough, so go do it and feel proud because you did.

Judith E. (“Judy”) Antisdel is Founder and President of AT Direct in Baltimore, Md. She has earned professional designations ranging from US Postal Service Non Profit Specialist to US Postal Service Mail Manager. She is a frequent guest speaker at symposia and workshops offered by the federal government and various non-profit organizations. Connect with Judy on LinkedIn, invite her to speak at your next event here, and find more info at her website.

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