Mess is the Point

There's something funny about being terrible at something new.

I discovered this truth sitting at a pottery wheel for the first time, covered in clay and wondering how something that looked so effortless on Instagram could feel like wrestling with a small, stubborn mountain.

When I signed up for wheel throwing classes, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I love learning, creating, making things with my hands. This seemed like a natural fit. What I didn't expect was to end my first session in soaking wet overalls with clay all over the floor after spinning the wheel too fast. Lightly put, it was a hot mess.

It had been years since I'd been this spectacularly bad at something. But here, with this one-pound lump of clay, I was completely out of my element. And somehow, that felt liberating.

My mom frequently tells me about a birthday party when I was five. While other parents guided their kids through painting t-shirts, she stepped back. "Do whatever you want," she told me. "I'm not going to help you." So I finger-painted wild strokes, mixed colors until they turned muddy, got paint everywhere. My shirt looked nothing like the well-designed masterpieces around me. But it was mine - unfiltered, messy, and born from pure play.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself I was still honoring that spirit. That iterating designs in Figma was the adult version of play and messing around. I used that to justify optimism about my creative life. But that wasn’t play. Play doesn’t optimize or build toward a goal; it exists for joy. Play celebrates the mess as much as the masterpiece.

The wheel made space for 5-year-old Elizabeth to shine. For an entire month, I threw forms only to squish them back down into clay balls. I didn’t finish a single piece, and that was intentional. My only goal was to keep trying: to embrace the joy of being a beginner and to stay with the mess instead of rushing to a result.

Even now when I sit at that wheel, the clay still doesn't always cooperate. Bowls collapse, cylinders wobble, hands slip. I've learned that's exactly the point.

I can be terrible at something and still find deep satisfaction in the mess of trying. And sometimes, that’s exactly where I need to be.