Step 1. You fake it. Let’s face it: nobody likes criticism. Nobody wants to be told that their baby, the thing they poured their heart and soul into, is less than awesome. But you fake it. Pretend, for your own sake, that you are one of those incredibly gracious human beings who is eager to absorb the wisdom of others as they, reserved at first, then ever so freely, destroy the thing you poured your heart and soul into, shattering your expectations, crushing any ideas you had about your own competency and raw talent, and while fighting back a variety of emotions, manage to listen, nod, and even take notes. Normally, I do not advocate faking anything. However, in this case, it’s for your own good. What this should really be called is practice. Disclaimer: No one should ever critique your work cruelly and you should never stand for personal attacks or mean-spirited judgments. What I’m talking about here is constructive criticism.

When I was 6 and first started putting pen to paper and writing down everything that came to mind, I was not looking for a critique of my work, nor was I interested in a lifetime of accepting criticism. I was just doing what I liked to do. However, once I continued down that path and voluntarily signed up for writing competitions, workshops, and a four-year degree program studying creative writing, I officially had no one else to blame. Anyone who has participated in the arts, be it music composition, visual arts, writing, or what have you, knows that at least half of the process is criticism and critique. The art itself is not complete on its own—it is only half of what’s there. In order to complete the work, it has to go out into the world and connect with another person. Thus, sending your work out to live with others, and consequently opening yourself up to criticism and judgment, is inherently part of the process. So step 2 is to accept this. Then, give it time. If you don’t already, you will grow to love this aspect of creating something new in a world where so many things are simply repeated and given a different name.

Step 3. Learn  your craft. Whatever it is you do, study it closely. You need to be learning your craft intentionally. One of the bonuses of working in the arts is that we usually love what we’re doing and we’re fans of other people’s work. If you’re a songwriter, you typically love other songs, a painter, other paintings, etc. So study them. When you like something, ask yourself why. Practice critiquing other work yourself and you will have more appreciation for criticism’s benefits. Learn the history of the art form, learn the rules and the boundaries of the art form. THEN, you may start breaking those rules and boundaries. One example: don’t start abusing grammar until you know how to use it! You and your writing will be glad you studied up because then you have respect for the art form and you can better understand the work of others. Until you fully understand what the accepted “rules” are, however, you may have difficulty gaining the respect of your well-versed peers and honestly, you may miss out on a higher quality of writing that you didn’t even know you could produce until you made yourself stretch out of your comfort zone, put your nose to the grindstone, and do the hard work. You will not regret absorbing as much information as you can about your craft. You won’t.

Step 4. Actually be grateful for criticism. It may take a bit of time and like I said, practice, but you will get to the place where you yearn for a good, thoughtful workshop critique.  You’ll find yourself asking “Who can rip my story/song/labor of love and work of art to shreds and generate really thought-provoking questions and advice?!” You will learn to love it because it makes you better and it helps you grow. Sometimes it will still sting, especially when there’s that phrase or scene or character or chapter you loved so dearly that you may be decide should be changed or eliminated and your heart may break a little. But through constructive criticism, not only do we learn all of the aforementioned and grow as writers and artists, but we also grow as human beings. We learn that just because we build something so carefully, that doesn’t make it perfect. We learn that there’s always room for improvement. We learn that breaking something down again and re-sculpting it may result in something far more profound that what it was initially—in retrospect, just a sketch of what the final product turned out to be. This makes us better listeners, less prideful, even more creative, better problem solvers, and less me-oriented. Instead of looking at the world and saying, “Oh, well if they don’t like it, they just don’t understand my genius, so hmph, I will just sit here and be mysterious,” we say, “Okay, let’s try again, because it is my job to be able to send this piece of my heart and mind and work out into the world to be understood by others, to move others, to teach others, to be loved by others, and if no one understands it, and my pride prevents me from making it understandable, what, then, have I really created?” We learn to love the criticism, because it helps others to connect with what we’re putting out there, because other people understanding what we’re communicating is what completes the circle and without that missing link, a work of art hasn’t fully achieved its purpose in the first place. Criticism can help you find your way, point you in a good direction, and clear your head of clutter so you are able chisel away at what’s really important.

And what of the hecklers? Well, when they have something meaningful to say, then we’ll bother with considering their opinions. We may be waiting for a while. 

Rafiki’s wise so I’m using his scene. Here, he criticizes Simba’s behavior to a positive end. Click it.

I hate fear. Fear is the worst. So I thought instead of pretending I’m totally cool with everything in life and faking it, I would just do what I always do: call myself out in front of the entire internet. 

When I was in elementary school, I remember being called into the counseling office because my teachers were concerned about my stress level. (You read that right—elementary school.) As a kid, and always, I had a lot of interests and my teachers were concerned that my parents were pushing me into being involved in too much. I was completely unaware of what they were talking about because my parents have never pushed me into anything; I just liked a lot of different things. This has always been the case. It is still the case today and believe me, it can be a joy or a real stress inducer.

There are a million different things I’d like to spend my life doing and I almost always feel that anything is possible. Sometimes when I think about how many different career and personal goals I’d ideally like to achieve, I hit a brick wall. There is not enough time in one lifetime to be fully devoted to everything there is to be devoted to. I think this is part of growing up—learning to make choices. Here’s the problem with making choices and/or growing up: I inevitably end up feeling as though one choice really means a sacrifice. One choice, by definition, means not choosing another. It means a closed door. It means a decision, not always finite, but generally speaking, a decisive end to another option. And I like options.

Why is this a problem?  Living my life this way creates a situation wherein I am never fully satisfied, always feel like I am giving something up, and instead of seeing a life of exciting choices, feel like I am really looking at a life of sacrifice. In some ways, this is just life and what I’m learning is that it doesn’t have to be a bad, or scary, thing. Some choices are both scary and wonderful, such as choosing a person to spend your life with. Choosing that person means not choosing anyone else for as long as you both shall live. It means sacrifice. It means just as many no’s as it means yes’s. It means saying no to people who would like to date you. It means saying no to self-centeredness. It means saying no to being single. It means loads of compromise about future endeavors. It means saying no to making huge life decisions without discussing it with another person. That’s huge and potentially scary, but also amazing and rewarding. One choice often means saying “no” to something else, but I’m learning to see a choice as moving in a direction, not as the slam of a door, because I’ve been learning more about the amazing places to which a choice can move you. The best choices I’ve made so far in life don’t leave me with regrets and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on something else. I’ve just got to remember to trust that.

I get ahead of myself. I try to decide now about things I’m not ready to decide yet. Right now, staying home with my someday kids sounds like a joy but also sounds like sacrificing a career I’d love to have. I’m also afraid of doing both, concerned that I’ll do neither well. I want too much. I love too many things. I get lost.

I have faith that I’ll get to the place where that choice and all of these future choices are no longer difficult to make. I think that when I’m there, it won’t feel like a sacrifice, it will just feel like the best choice. When I stop thinking this way and get all wrapped up in the “what if’s” and “how’s,” that’s when fear takes hold. I’m afraid I’ll make the wrong choices. I’m afraid of not living up to my full potential. I’m afraid I’ll choose in a way that will cause me to waste this one precious life I have been issued. I’m afraid.

Here’s what I know: God is in control when I am spiraling out of it. Fear should have no hold on me because it is powerless. Choices are what keep me from being stuck in the same exact place forever and I do want to be devoted to a husband, to a family, to something more than me, something I’m passionate about, and ultimately, to Jesus. All of these are choices. Beautiful, intricate choices made over and over and over again a hundred times a day, and I am learning more and more about being prepared for the task. And, as cliché as it sounds, life is beautiful and my problem really is that I’m so excited about all of life’s possibilities that I don’t know which interest to pursue. That’s a good place—an open place—to be and it may not last forever. I’m learning to take in the season; to relish the journey, and that the fear of wasting my life is the only thing actually inhibiting it.

If you’re afraid of this, or of anything, I get it. You’re not alone. But I know from personal experience that we don’t have to stay that way.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

“I sought the Lord and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.” Psalm 34: 4