“What makes people beautiful is not that we get everything right — it’s that we get many things wrong. And what makes us fall in love is not the person who is perfect; it’s the person who accepts our imperfections. And we know when we are in love when we learn to accept theirs, not learn to want to.”
— Simon Sinek
A few years back, 2020, I self-published my first book titled A River Runs. The deadline for this book was a release in time for Simone and I’s wedding in Wānaka, New Zealand, January 4th, 2020. I published A River Runs in a blitz — the impetus to finish: having it completed in time for the arrival of our guests, the whānau, family, and friends that would come from all over the globe to celebrate our special day. We sold the book at the wedding — 1 for $25, 2 for $100. We asked people not to bring gifts and instead to buy a book, preferably two, to help us cover costs. Each guest received an individualised poem gently cut out of the book as their very own when they sat down at reception, coupled with a personalised letter from Sip and Sim.
It’s funny looking back — I published that book without a care in the world, no fear. It was then quickly featured in 1964 Mountain Culture Journal. It received some incredible reviews from noteworthy readers (you were all noteworthy!) and fly anglers. Apparently, it even made its way into the palms of a man named Yvon.
I was invited on a South Island book tour by Petronella’s Bookstore in Tekapo, where I was asked to do a reading of A River Runs in a country bar. We had boxes and boxes of the book stowed away in our closets. I would send copies around the world and lose fifteen bucks on every sale due to the cost of shipping books from Aotearoa to the United States, Canada, Sweden, Finland, Great Britain, India — you name it. I was just happy people wanted to read it. Someone even placed an order for 100 books ($2,500 deposited into our bank account in an instant) so they could give them away as gifts to family and friends. We sold every single book. 2,000 copies.
Now, when I read A River Runs back, I cringe — like a visceral, squeamish cringe — at an artist’s early attempts, akin to the drawing of a kindergartner. But the funny (as in peculiar) thing is: that book’s imperfections are probably why people became so quickly endeared to it. There was no punctuation, hardly any capital letters, a rough draft of sorts. I didn’t hire anyone to design it. No editor, aside from Sim. A friend quickly threw it together on InDesign or Canva — I can’t quite remember. The book was printed in black and white, no complicated cover images. A little stock image of a flying fish as its emblem. Bare minimal. And people loved it… or so they say.
More people want it, but I’ve refused to buy any more stock (buy e-version here). I still get emails about the impact A River Runs had on people’s lives. Some readers tell me they carry it with them as a little bible/reminder of sorts. I encouraged people to doodle, draw, write all over it, stick it in their back pocket, rip out their favourite poems and pin them to their fridge, or use it as kindling after a walk into a DOC backcountry hut.
It reminds me of the Salvador Dalí quote: “Have no fear of perfectionism — you’ll never reach it.” What that book taught me was that starting a creative project is hard, but finishing — tougher yet. And that finished is better than perfect. But at the time, finishing A River Runs wasn’t hard because my cause to finish it in time for our wedding was greater than any resistance. I was also filled with youthful exuberance, a bit of naïveté, and I didn’t give a rip about the opinions and perceptions of others once the book was released into the wilderness. That’s probably why the book was such a hit.
What’s the lesson here? Your early creative endeavours will be cringeworthy for sure. Maybe to you. But to them, they may be one of the coolest, most beautiful, and treasured gifts on earth. Like how, even after all these years, your mom still hung on to that “amazing” drawing you did as a kid. We are all making the best art right now with the tools we currently have on hand. If we could do better, well then, we’d do better.
“The more important an activity is to your soul's evolution, the more resistance you will feel to it — the more fear you will feel.”
— Steven Pressfield
Over the past few years, I’ve been writing every single day, often in the very early hours of the morning — sometimes three or four books on the trot — and I haven’t quite found the equation for finishing. Time and again, I’ve been right at the end and then thrown the whole thing in the bin — even once lit it on fire. My fear of perfectionism — this resistance — has stopped any sort of book release since A River Runs. No doubt, in that time, I’ve become a better writer. I’ve spent years behind the scenes honing my craft in preparation for the next release. I’ve also been more doubt-filled and self-conscious than ever.
So, I’ll end with a word of encouragement and a poem below:
Keep writing, keep playing, keep doing whatever it is you do that brings any bit of joy to your heart and soul. It’s never too late to begin, so long as you’re still here. Have no fear of perfectionism — it’s a myth; it doesn’t exist. Perfectionism is simply the mind’s trick of creating resistance to action and finishing. As Simon Sinek says of the Japanese design concept wabi-sabi — beauty in that which is temporary or imperfect — imperfections are actually where the magic happens.
Book Release
I could have tinkered with you
for a lifetime,
or so it seemed,
but for both our sakes —
yours and mine —
I decided to let you go.
Releasing you into the wilderness
was scary as.
But not as much as
the thought
of holding onto
you forever.