1000 broken failures... an accomplishment?

It was a Sunday, a few days after Diwali, the Indian festival of lights, and I was sitting on the couch in the home of a good family friend. It is a tradition, that on the weekend of Diwali, my family would go to Sudhir-uncle’s house and would bring a gift of sweets. However, on this particular trip, last year, I wanted to bring something special, just from me. I had gotten pretty good at ceramics and so made a fruit bowl to give them.

And, being inclined to look for ways to make some extra money, I asked Sudhir-uncle, “Do you think my bowl is good? Would you buy it if you saw it in a store?”

And he, behaving almost like a parent, answered, “I would buy anything that you made.”

I grew irritated by his response. I was asking the question seriously, and his answer sounded as though he was trying to placate me. And so, in an attempt to try to get the truth out of him I said, “It’s not really that good. I don’t really like how the glazing came out; it was supposed to be in bands, not all blended together like that. I don’t think anybody would buy it.” I expected him to tell me that it was perfect the way it was and that, of course, someone would want to buy it.

To my surprise he answered, “You know that my cousin is a potter. He told me that his teacher told him that he should not sell a single piece until he had broken a thousand of his own pieces. Those thousand pieces have to be ones in which you have used your best effort and realized that they did not turn out as well as you wanted them to.”

It took me a moment to unravel what he had said, but once I did, I was silenced. I had not thrown out ten pieces, let alone a hundred, or a thousand. However, I still felt that if someone was willing to buy my work, no matter for how little, it was good enough, but I didn’t try to argue.

It was not until I returned to school and saw how often I would think, “This looks better than what so-and-so made,” that I realized that I was judging my work by how I compared to others, rather than looking at whether it was actually good or not. It was just like what I hated hearing from teachers: “It wasn’t exactly right, but I know you tried hard, so I’ll give you credit.” This resulted in me taking all of my works-in-progress and throwing them out. I then proceeded to read a few books on throwing before returning to the wheel.

This advice, while not appreciated at the time, is the one which I have remembered the best and have truly attempted to imbue into every aspect of my life. I realized that doing my best doesn’t necessarily mean that I was producing the best work that was possible. I have to actively try to learn and practice so that my best gets ever closer to the best. It was like calculating limits in calculus. I must bring my best as close to the best as possible, even it is impossible for it to be equal to the best, so that I can accurately judge what the best would be. While I have sadly not yet accomplished this, I believed that if I am able to use this advice in all that I do, nothing will be out of my reach.