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Some days, our greatest lessons arrive in the middle of a grueling therapy session. Other days, they spill out of a babbling teenager sitting in the passenger seat of your car. 

I recently hired Raven, a 16-year-old animal enthusiast, to be my new dog sitter. They have big dreams of becoming a veterinarian and are hungry for opportunities to care for animals while making some extra cash. Smart. 

I drove across town to pick Raven up for our “orientation session” at my house. The speed limit might’ve been 35 miles per hour, but that didn’t stop Raven from talking a million miles per minute. 

College applications, comedy shows, D&D podcasts… Raven flowed from one topic to the other with exuberance. But the real magic came when Raven opened up about their true passion—poetry.

“I love writing poems. This weekend, while the beagles are napping, I’ll play my favorite music and see if I can write some new poems. I bought a new Moleskin just for the occasion!” 

Raven’s passion for poetry was palpable. 

“Do you have any poems you could share with me?” I asked as my blinker clicked quietly in the background. Raven’s eyes turned to saucers. “Really? You want to hear my poetry?” 

“Of course!” I chuckled at her surprise. 

Like a manic cartoon character, Raven scrambled through their bag, searching for their iPhone. They grasped it with a dramatic gasp and began to scroll. Raven’s finger moved frantically over the screen, searching for the perfect poem for our impromptu open mic. 

“Yes!” they exclaimed. “This is the one I want to share. It’s a poem about writing poems.” They looked at me hesitantly, vulnerable excitement painted across their innocent features. I waved my hand in a get on with it gesture with feigned impatience. 

And then, Raven began to read. 

This poem. It was… incredible. 

When they finished, winded and beet red, I immediately lost it. 

“Raven! Holy shit! That was amazing!” 

They took a deep breath and laughed as shock and delight soothed the hot edges of their vulnerability. “Really? You really liked it?” 

The raw tenderness of their response rocked me. 

“Yes, Raven. Sincerely. That was an incredible poem. I had no idea you were such a gifted poet.” 

They dropped their face into their hands and exhaled, “Oh my goodness. Wow. Thank you so much. I know I talk really fast, but I get nervous and then just want to get it over with.” 

I asked if we could go through it again, but slower this time, so I could really take it in. We spent the rest of the ride reading their poem line by line, discussing its imagery and structure. Raven’s enthusiasm for their poetry was contagious. 

I asked Raven where they learned to write and analyze poetry, thinking they must be taking a class in school or working with some private poetry tutor. 

Their answer? 

“I listen to a lot of poetry on Spotify!”

My jaw hit the floor. “Wait, that’s it? You just listen to people read poems, and then you write something like that?” 

They were confused by my confusion. 

“Um, yeah… how else would you do it?” they asked with complete sincerity. I couldn’t help but delight in their blissful naivety. 

As we pulled into the driveway, Raven sat quietly, something churning in their mind. The next words came out in a whisper, as if they were talking to themself. 

“You know… sometimes, I feel like I might be the best poet in the world, and it feels so amazing. But the next second, usually after I read someone else’s poem, I feel like I’m the worst poet in the world.”

They paused, chewing the inside of their cheek as they worked out what to say next.  

“I think I’m learning I have to keep myself in the middle, in the gray area, where I’m not the best, but I’m also not the worst. That’s the place where I can really do my best work.”

I sat, stunned, staring into the golden glow of the setting sun. 

“Raven, that’s really good advice.” 

Instantly, their quiet contemplation transformed into bubbly effervescence. “Really?! Wow, thank you! I can’t believe you like my poem and think I have good advice! That’s so amazing!” 

When we step into early adulthood, many of us fall through the chasm between “I’m really good at this!” and “I’m the absolute worst at this.” 

The pain of believing we’re the worst, of being told that our work isn’t good enough, snuffs out our innate creative impulses. The discomfort we feel when we’re straddling confidence and comparison is too much, too scary, too vulnerable. 

I fight this battle within myself all the time. Honestly, I’m fighting it as I write this email right now! Is this good enough? Is this boring? Maybe I should scrap this and write about something else instead. 

It’s a common thread between my clients, too. 

We unpack the layers of old stories that make us feel small and incompetent. We peel back the scabs covering tender wounds to see if we’re ready to try again to show the world what we’ve created. It’s deep, vulnerable work. 

I think we all need to hear young Raven’s sage advice. 

In order to do our best work, we need to step away from perfectionism and stop comparing ourselves to others. 

We do our best work when we release the need to be “the best” and abandon the fear of being “the worst”.  When we give ourselves permission to create in the gray area between good and bad, we can tap into our natural creative gifts with ease. 

This week, my wish is that you can channel Raven’s deep self-trust and undiluted joy as you create something for yourself—an email, a blog post, an art piece, or maybe even your very own poem. 

I hope you find something to create that flows from you with messy, reckless abandon, and that you spare yourself the unnecessary oppression of comparing your magic to someone else’s. 

If we each put more of ourselves into the world, I think we really could change things for the better. 

Let’s all be more like Raven.