What I thought I was going to write about for today’s post got pre-empted by another subject. Thanks to Twitter.

I went to high school with a few guys that liked to draw. A couple of them, one or two years younger than me, were obviously very, very good. You could see they had talent, and these were the guys I “competed” with, making sure my stuff was better than theirs. Looking back with an objective eye, I can see that, while I do have some talent, their talent was beyond me. Whether it was because they had more of a natural gift than me, or they had resources to learn from that I didn’t, or because they just drew more often and worked at it more, I don’t know. But, in retrospect, with the amount of talent I had, I’m the guy that would have needed to worker than them.

But there was one guy, also one or two years younger, that loved to draw but just didn’t come anywhere close to the rest of us. Let’s call him “Lexi”.

I remember Lexi drew like he was in the 6th grade. His figures, his faces, they all looked awkward. He’d only started drawing maybe a year or two prior to my meeting him, learning from books. That would explain his skill level, so I couldn’t fault him for that. I mean, he was learning and he loved it, so who was I to judge? But I knew talent when I saw it and this guy didn’t have it.

Lexi is currently a professional illustrator, having published his own comic, worked in animation, does character design, and illustrates and authors children’s books.

It’s one thing to see my other high school friends, the ones with obvious talent, work professionally now. I mean, they went to art school. I didn’t. I had my heart set on comics, they had their heart set simply on drawing. They focused on basics. I focused on writing and drawing comics pages. They never stopped drawing. I did. They never did anything else. I did lots of other things.

So, of course, attaining my goals would take me longer. I’ve learned to be okay with that.

But whenever I’m reminded of Lexi, my heart starts to pound and the depression starts to set in.

This was a guy with little talent and had a lot of things to learn before he could even be competent. But, through diligence and perseverance, he made it. He draws for a living. I lost touch with the guy after high school, so I don’t know exactly what he went through to get where he is today. But, it’s obvious his narrow focus paid off and he got to his destination, whereas my wide focus led me down other forks in the road, rest stops, layovers, and other visits. I meandered, he didn’t (I assume). I get defensive about his success with myself: our styles are different. His is more trendy and pop while mine is more raw and “illustrative” (whatever that means). He went to art school, while I had to do everything myself. He went into animation, but I don’t want to draw like that. I’m six years behind where I should be. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah I need to shut my pie hole. Because all of this comparing is nothing more than trying to find justifications for the path I took and trying to make myself feel better about it.

The thing is, this isn’t just a personal experience. Read, oh, I don’t know… the whole Internet, and you’ll find artists do this to themselves all the time. The comparison to other artists, not just in terms of skill but in success and the timeliness thereof, is a common topic among artists. I’ve written about the “comparison trap” before. Comparison isn’t really something we should do, unless we’re doing it to get inspired.

And Lexi’s success can certainly inspire me, but not necessarily in an artistic way. It inspires me in a way that reminds me that sometimes it’s a good thing to have a narrow focus, something I’ve had only once or twice in my life – I’ve always wanted to do everything, which meant accomplishing only a little in many areas instead of a lot in a single area. It’s a reminder that, with diligence, I can get to where I want to be. It’s a reminder that no matter how much talent you have, you still have to use it.

And that last bit is funny, because I used to tell my drum students that very thing: “I don’t care how much potential you have. It’s what you do with it that matters. Potential energy is useless unless it becomes kinetic energy.”

Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out how to use my time to do all the things I want to do: draw, write, spend time with friends, train in Wing Chun, get back to doing music, go on adventures and see new things… and seeing Lexi’s success makes me feel a little better about sacrificing some things to go after what I put off for a long time. Those sacrifices would probably be temporary anyway.

There’s a reason I’ve been feeling like I’m 25 years old for the past decade. I’ve been needing to do the things that will get me to 26 and beyond.