The Virtues of Being The Worst
I've recently joined a few new activities where I was clearly and markedly the worst by a large margin.
The first is I've joined the "back-up" choir at my UU church.
The second is I went out for some pick-up Ultimate Frisbee this past weekend.
In both cases, there was a sense of anxiety that I might be (OK, was) dragging down the group. It can be tough to know that you are the bottom end of that bell curve, scraping against the right edge of the graph.
But I think that I also experienced a broader sense of liberation. Being the worst, once it has been clearly and definitively established, frees you from any pretence of image or competition. You can immerse in an activity for whatever it is, on its face value. The subjective experience of being in the moment becomes so much more important, because you are clearly not impressing anyone.
It's a great thing to sing, and greater still to sing surrounded by voices of beauty. The music stays with you as you walk - you hear its echos and resonances in the days between rehersals and performances. It's a great thing to run, to jump, to catch. The feeling of synchronicity between mind and body, flying object and receiving hands. These are great things even when they don't achieve their precise aim, although we are so accustomted to thinking of things as only having value in a comparative sense - that only the best or at least the much better has any value.
It's also easier to appreciate other people's skill for what it is, when you have attempted said skill and failed to reach it. One of the greatest sins of our age is the sin of ingratitude - we are so used to things going so well so often that we fail to appreciate what we have. The flaw in the American Dream is that it often makes us oblivious to the American present. There is something beyond striving and achieving that makes a life rich and meaningful.
The first is I've joined the "back-up" choir at my UU church.
The second is I went out for some pick-up Ultimate Frisbee this past weekend.
In both cases, there was a sense of anxiety that I might be (OK, was) dragging down the group. It can be tough to know that you are the bottom end of that bell curve, scraping against the right edge of the graph.
But I think that I also experienced a broader sense of liberation. Being the worst, once it has been clearly and definitively established, frees you from any pretence of image or competition. You can immerse in an activity for whatever it is, on its face value. The subjective experience of being in the moment becomes so much more important, because you are clearly not impressing anyone.
It's a great thing to sing, and greater still to sing surrounded by voices of beauty. The music stays with you as you walk - you hear its echos and resonances in the days between rehersals and performances. It's a great thing to run, to jump, to catch. The feeling of synchronicity between mind and body, flying object and receiving hands. These are great things even when they don't achieve their precise aim, although we are so accustomted to thinking of things as only having value in a comparative sense - that only the best or at least the much better has any value.
It's also easier to appreciate other people's skill for what it is, when you have attempted said skill and failed to reach it. One of the greatest sins of our age is the sin of ingratitude - we are so used to things going so well so often that we fail to appreciate what we have. The flaw in the American Dream is that it often makes us oblivious to the American present. There is something beyond striving and achieving that makes a life rich and meaningful.
Comments
I was the worst violinist in my high school orchestra, and I LOVED it. Not only was I in awe of the quality of the orchestra as a whole (it was very good), but I was in the very back of the second violin section, which meant I was right in front of the percussion when we played with a full orchestra. You can bet I felt that music in my bones, through and through. I can still feel it.