A Valuable Lesson From an Online Troll

Longtime readers may remember that I once wrote about Elle Luna and her inspiring essay, “The Crossroads of Should and Must”. Elle is a designer who had a thriving career in Silicon Valley’s hottest startups and left it to become a painter. The essay is a “permission slip” to choose our “must”—our calling, over our “should”—a life that meets everyone’s expectations of us but doesn’t light us up.

I still remember reading a comment from someone who told her effectively, “You left a career as a great designer to become a mediocre painter.” I felt this comment like a punch to the gut.

This random armchair critic of someone else’s choices unmasked my biggest fear: I knew I was very good at what I had been doing for years. But could I be as good at some (then unknown) future career?

This fear still comes up occasionally, several years later. But now I understand the erroneous assumptions behind that comment.

Mediocre now doesn’t mean mediocre forever.

Few successful people began as prodigies in their field. Most just started and got better over time, sometimes a long time.

You don’t have to stop doing your “should” to do your “must”.

If the notion of being mediocre scares you, you can build your “must” while you get paid for your “should”. Sure, it will take more time, but still be faster than waiting until you retire, the kids grow up, or you’re independently wealthy.

Many hugely successful people were considered mediocre. Some still are.

The fact that one person—or a million people—thinks you’re mediocre doesn’t matter, as long as enough people respond well to what you do. Few people wanted to invest in the top tech entrepreneurs today when they started. Many still consider Taylor Swift’s music worse than mediocre. The best galleries in the world show art that experts call "trash".

Some things are worth doing even if you never become great at them.

Think about the skills you have: Were they worth pursuing only for your current proficiency level, or for who you’ve become in the pursuit of them?

Most fields aren’t competitive sports.

You likely don’t have to be the Serena Williams of your field to be successful. Despite my relentless desire to be the best at what I do, I remind myself that the 5,387th-best landscape designer and the 8,882nd-best life coach are doing just fine.

Finally, the question that never fails to make my fear shrink back into its rent-free mansion inside my head:

How would my 90-year-old self feel if I chose great over mediocre?

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