Adventures in Being a Beginner

minding the gap between taste and skill

Photo by Monika Grabkowska

One of my goals for 2024 is to expand my cooking repertoire. I feel confident about a few delicious recipes I can whip up for dinner, like curried chickpeas or a tasty rice noodle salad. I also love making “breakfast for dinner” with sausages from the local farmers market—there’s something magical about eating chocolate chip pancakes in the evening.

For lunch, I usually opt for leftovers or a nice charcuterie board. Calling it that makes it sound fancier than it is, which is just some version of bread, meat, cheese, vegetables, fruit, and my favorite part: pickles. I’m obsessed with pickled vegetables, so I decided it was time to learn how to make some.

Except I’m not good at being a beginner. I like repetition, routine, and the reliability both provide for me.

I know cognitively that there are benefits of going outside of one’s comfort zone—I just like doing things I’m already good at to get the results I know I already like. And yet… I suspect this holds me back from experiences that might enrich my life and prevents me from developing a tolerance for failure—even at small things like pickling a green bean.

I learned this year about an interview with Ira Glass about creativity and storytelling where he discusses “the gap” between taste versus skill. This occurs because it takes a long time for our skills with creativity to reach the level of our taste. According to Glass, if we fight for it and put in the work, we may eventually see our creative abilities reach the level of our tastes:

Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it's normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

I’ve been a beginner many times in my life, but my ability to fight my way through and accept that it will take a while to improve has varied enormously. Here are two examples:

I like jazz and classical music. A few years ago, I procured a cheap violin and took one online Zoom lesson with a friendly violin teacher who tasked me to practice holding the bow for homework. I knew by the end of the session that I wasn’t interested in putting in the level of time and effort into learning how to play myself, as just the foundations felt impossible to master. What I really wanted was to hear jazz and classical, and I knew it would take many years of dedication to get even close to playing the kind of music I wanted to hear. I gave the violin away and moved on.

Something I know I am good at is words: analyzing them as a scholar, stringing them together as a writer, and savoring the wit of other authors. When I think about Glass’s suggestion to hone our skills over time, I remember 1) the pure joy I found in reading poetry and fiction as a child and 2) the vigor I brought to writing throughout every stage of my schooling, which was mirrored with awards and access to selective programs where I could hone my skillset further. I published my poetry and scholarship in respected creative and academic spaces, researched and wrote my weekly “The Tending Year” blog for two years without pay or scholarly recognition, and now send the newsletter you’re reading to over 1,600 subscribers, 19 of whom elected for paid subscriptions (thank you!). I read and write for intrinsic satisfaction and to share knowledge with others, and while I have a robust toolkit, my hunger for reading and writing is what motivates me.

When I compare my experience with the violin to my lifelong journey as a reader and writer, the differences are palpable in breadth and especially depth. While I know which playlists delight me into a lovely state of flow (my favorite is “Lazy Jazz Cat” on Spotify), I couldn’t tell you which song was written by which composer. I’m a listener, not a sommelier.

My memories of reading and writing, on the other hand, are somatic and woven deep into my life story. Perhaps there’s something here about the pleasure of doing a thing—that I want to enjoy the experience, not just the outcome. My yoga teacher reminds me that our yoga practice is a lifelong experience and not something we should aim to perfect. Instead, we notice, reflect, we adjust, and we move forward in our practice mindfully. The deeper I got into my yoga practice, the more essential it felt for me, to the point where I’ve been brought to tears by the recognition that one day, I’ll die, and after that, I can’t do yoga anymore. Of all things, this is a good reminder to be present and savor my practice every time I show up to my yoga mat or my writing desk.

So, let’s talk pickling. In comparison to the soulful connection I’ve had with literature or yoga, fizzy veggies seem of microscopic significance. If someone offered me a million dollars to never eat a pickle again, I’d take the cash. But still: pickles are delicious and it would be fun to know how to make them myself…even if I have to put on the dusty beginner hat.

I started my pickle journey by borrowing some cookbooks from the library and buying my own copy of Sandor Ellix Katz’s Wild Fermentation, a book I’ve seen on many friends’ bookshelves over the years. I was initially perturbed that each book offered contradictory best practices, but accepted it as part of the ride. After all, I’m not performing surgery; I’m putting vegetables from the farmers market into a bunch of salt water and the worst thing that can happen is a stinky mess on my countertop. After which I can try again.

Even though what I really want is pickled green beans, I started with sauerkraut, which all the books suggested as beginner-friendly. Here’s a little journal of my process:

Day 1: It’s fun chopping the cabbage, I’m careful to weigh it on my kitchen scale, I’m using the salt I have on hand instead of investing in a fancy type.

Day 2: It’s bubbling and smells like cabbage farts when I unscrew the cap to make sure the veggie is under the liquid. It’s such a pretty color green. It looks like there’s more liquid today than yesterday.

Day 3: There’s more liquid on the top and it looks even bubblier, which I think is okay? Katz says to taste it after three days, so I give it a try and it’s not salty enough for me. In fact, it tastes vaguely sweet, which I think is gross. I wonder if I should have added more salt on Day 1, but I stick to the process and don’t abandon ship.

Day 4: More bubbles! No mold! Tastes a little more like sauerkraut and I’m still wishing it would taste more salty, so I’ll let it sit longer.

Day 5: The color has shifted from green to the pale gold I’m used to in the sauerkraut I’ve bought from the store. It tastes more acidic, which tastes good, and I decide to toss the rolled cabbage leaf that’s been keeping the shreds safe below and put the jar in the fridge.

A could weeks later: Well…the sauerkraut is edible, but it’s not salty enough for my tastes! I think if I try again, I’m going to add in more salt and some caraway seeds. While I would rank my sauerkraut a 3 out of 10, I’d give the experience of being a beginner a surprising 8 out of 10.

I’ll close out today’s letter with a reflection I had while writing it: there’s no right way to spend your time and energy, but when your time and energy are limited due to sickness, caretaking, or a busy work schedule, it’s okay to default to what works for you. I’m going to give pickling green beans a try next, but I’m not planning on adding pickling to my list of serious hobbies. I already know that I like to spend my downtime reading novels, playing video games, and practicing yoga, and I like how those things enrich my mind, body, and relationships. Should my green bean batch fail to satisfy, I’ll either try again or buy a jar from the store, but I’ll make either choice with a focus on bringing crunchy, salty, delicious delight into my life.

Take care and talk soon,

Dr. Kate