I’ve had my favorite jacket for 6 years.
It’s lightly insulated, perfect for cool summer mornings and evenings, spring and fall, and—when layered between a wool sweater and waterproof shell—even winter.
Given its versatility, I’ve worn it almost every day of those six years.
As you might imagine after that much use, the wear is starting to show.
Or rather, it started to show several years ago and has continued to spread since.
While there are (amazingly) no outright holes, there are numerous snags and pulls and the fabric has been roughed up considerably on the back and shoulders where my backpack often sits.
Most notably, the jacket’s once bright blue finish has faded, in several places, almost entirely obscured by stains left from the dust of several dozen countries.
My partner, Kelly, despises the jacket.
She’s begun asking if I would stop wearing it if she bought me a new one.
But to be honest, I’m not sure I would.
I only bought this one, after all, after losing my previous jacket, the exact same model which I’d worn into a similar state over the previous 5 years—though that one was black and hid the stains better—until I left it in an AirBnb closet in a small town in Spain.
Sentimentality and nostalgia certainly play a role in my attachment.
We’ve been through a lot together, my jacket and me, after all.
But it’s more than that.
Because for all the joy in the unmarred perfection of a tool—be it a jacket, computer, vehicle, or, well… pretty much anything else—thosepristine countenances can’t compete with the fearless utility of their battle-worn counterparts.
In some cases, a well-worn tool becomes even better with age.
Baseball mitts, proper leather hiking boots, and good cast iron pans, for example, must all be worn in and well-seasoned before their useful life truly begins.
Most often, however, it’s not a new tool’s inherent properties that keep us from using it to the fullest, but our own psychology around the item.
When the surface is pristine and untouched, we go out of our way to keep it that way.
We tip-toe around even the tiniest potential sources of dirt or damage, in many cases even avoiding the tool’s intended use in order to preserve its outward appearance. It feels as though the moment it picks up that first scuff stain, its value will be lost immediately.
And yet, as someone who owns my tools far longer and wears them far harder than perhaps someone should, I’ve more often found the opposite to be true.
That the true life of a tool begins at precisely the moment it picks up that first scratch. And that its value only increases from there.
After the first nick, all bets are off.
The illusion of perpetual perfection has been shattered and we can now get to using the thing as intended.
With my jacket, that means pushing through brambles and scrambling along rock faces without the worry of scuffing up the finish getting in the way of enjoying the thrill of the moment.
This idea applies beyond clothing and manufactured tools, however.
Almost every hike I’ve ever been on has begun with the naive attempt to keep my hands clean for as long as possible.
Sooner or later, however, there inevitably comes an obstacle that can only be overcome by scrambling over, under, or around it on all fours.
With hands now irreversibly muddied, the spell is broken and there’s nothing keeping me from using them wherever they might make things even marginally easier, which, it turns out, is nearly constantly.
In hindsight, the thought of intentionally limiting your effectiveness in a misguided attempt to keep your hands clean is laughable.
And yet, we often can’t help ourselves.
Most inhibiting of all might be the lengths we take to keep our egos pristine and intact.
But try as we might to preserve a perfect exterior, it’s not until we picked up our first cuts, scrapes, scars, and bruises that our creative lives begin in earnest.
Once our surface has been marred we realize that there’s no longer any use in avoiding and tip-toeing around the places with the potential to leave us worn, weathered, and damaged.
Indeed, these are the places we must travel if we’re to uncover and create anything of value.
In the process, we’re likely to take on significant wear.
Over the years, our exterior will be worn down to the point that we no longer resemble the people we were when we started.
This isn’t the end of the world.
In fact, embracing this reality, and the scrapes and stains that accompany it is the start of it.
Explore how to navigate a creative life that matters
This article originally appeared in my weekly Creative Wayfinding Newsletter. Each issue is the product of a week of work, and contains something not available for sale.
A fresh perspective, a shot of encouragement when you need it most, and maybe even some genuine wisdom from time to time.
Each week, we explore a different facet of the question “How do we navigate the wilds of creating work that matters?”
It’s something I’m proud to create and I’d be honoured to share it with you.
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