Dancers mustn’t kick too high

Before we even sit down and get to work, each of us must contend with these kinds of ideas:

How do we uniquely define quality? What choices will we make as we think about it? And how will we set such a high standard with our work that a cheap version would simply not be acceptable?

Without this kind of intention around quality, it won’t happen. It’s just not one of those things that gets left to chance. What’s more, we won’t be able to capitalize on luck without quality to anchor it.

Howard Roark’s speech from Fountainhead’s legendary trial scene comes to mind:

We have, let’s say, sixty years to live. Most of that time will be spent working. But we’ve chosen the work we want to do. If we find no joy in it, then we’re only condemning ourselves to sixty years of torture. And we can find the joy only if we do our work in the best way possible to us. But the best is a matter of standards, and we set our own standards. We inherit nothing and we stand at the end of no tradition. We may, perhaps, stand at the beginning of one.

Naturally, this approach won’t guarantee acceptance, appreciation, adulation or achievement. Just because something is great doesn’t mean anyone will care.

Which is why it’s so important that we care. That we drip quality, bit by bit, day by day, because doing so makes us feel more alive.

Not that everything we do has to be the greatest thing there ever was, but hell, in a world where everything seems to be just good enough, it feels pretty damn electrifying to make something great.

Focus your energy on the part of the equation you control, which is the greatness of your work. Answer only to your own artistic standard of excellence.

And lift your standing in the marketplace only by the quality of your work, not by pushing other people down.

Because when you give the future something to respect, you give yourself a history to be proud of.

Are you working for your own high standards, or for someone else’s approval?