'Young Ambition' by Edison Bridges

Give up. You will never be good enough.
How many stories go untold, projects forgotten, or dreams destroyed simply because people listen when they’re told they will never be good enough? This affront sometimes escaping from the lips of a parent, teacher, or even perhaps your own.

Why does it deter you from creating something beautiful?
 
How do you know? How do they know if you’re not given the chance to try? To learn. To grow.
 
Creating is all about trial and error, isn’t it? 
 
‘You’re wrong!’ Jono declared. His paint brush caressing the canvas, each stroke getting louder to block out the coarseness of criticism. ‘You’re telling this now to the kindergartener whose pictures and paintings you hung on the fridge; the primary schooler whose art you gave a gold-star; the high schooler whose photograph you took when he won the art competition. Don’t you realise it starts with the scribbles and it ends with art? If I’d listened, if I’d stopped, I’d never have made it to where I am now.’ 
 
‘But you need to stop Jono. This hobby will never get you anywhere in life.’ Jono’s father huffed. Pressing his fingers to his temples he tried to explain, ‘I was a writer once: a childish dream that I could make a living from it. No matter how hard I tried, or how many hours I spent typing away until my fingers bled, it was never good enough. They hated my work. I hated my work. I burnt out. Unhappy. Embarrassed. I had to quit and get a real job.’
 
‘Writing is a real job! Painting is a real job!’ Jono exhaled, placing his paintbrush down. ‘All creators have their ups-and-downs: wish they could change aspects of their previous works; be noticed more for their efforts. It is routine, even normal. Do we give up at every down?
You know there are pieces in my art gallery I can't even bear to look at. I look back on some of my art that I used to be so proud of only to realise it was shit!
I realise I’m not perfect. That my art is not perfect. I learn from the criticism. I try to understand where I went wrong. I apologise to those I’ve hurt through my work – even if it was unintentional. I apologise for being so harsh on myself.  But I don’t give up! I will never give up even if people tell me I will never be good enough.’

The room fell silent as the father considered his son’s words. Still, he attempted to shift the younger man’s viewpoint. ‘A year's worth of work is only a day's worth of entertainment. You waste hours of your life only for someone to scroll through and nod or walk past and keep going. Your art, while full of meaning is ultimately meaningless.’

​‘That is a view that can be held, though I firmly disagree,’ Jono replied.  He took his painted canvas off the easel and set it aside. ‘When a creator dies their work transcends time itself, resonating with people from all parts of the world regardless of age, class, or background. It may take me years to finish, but they are my years, and my art will exist beyond me.  I understand my art isn’t for everyone – and some may not even know of its existence, but for those who do stop by and take a chance to appreciate it, their lives could be impacted in countless ways, just as my life is impacted through its creation. And that is worth not giving up.’
 Edison Bridges © 2024