Yesterday, I was hopeful.

The end was in sight. I had spent weeks writing, thinking, rewriting, questioning, changing things, finding new ideas and occasionally wondering why I had ever decided that writing a research paper was a good idea.

But yesterday, I could almost see the finish line. There was a little bit of excitement. I had printed the paper and was sitting with it in a new café. The sun was shining. I was feeling good. Even my coffee was sending me love. I took this photo…

I was in editing mode, halfway through, on page 19 of 38, and I thought perhaps when I got to the end there might be a moment- you know the one…The angels would sing. The light would shine. I would sit back, look at my completed paper and think, ‘Yes. I’ve done it!‘

However, today, I finished page 38 and instead of that triumphant feeling, I looked at it and thought – ‘It’s official. I have a shitty first draft. I was hoping to hear angels singing, but instead all I have is a warm, stinky turd.’ 💩🤣

And do you know what?I think that might actually be okay.

Because perhaps I had an unrealistic idea of what finishing looked like. I imagined completion would bring certainty. Satisfaction. Relief. Maybe even a little bit of brilliance.

Instead it was such a weird feeling so I drew that turd. Because I think there is something important in being able to laugh at that.

Humour matters.

Not because the work doesn’t matter. It does. But because we don’t have to take ourselves so seriously while doing it.

Sometimes finishing just means having a finished document that still needs a lot of work.

And that’s okay.

I can care about this paper and still call the first draft a turd. I can want to do good work, without deciding that the quality of the work says anything about my worth. 

I’ve finished the first draft. I’ll make the obvious corrections, and then I’m going to step away.

Which feels horrendous!

When you’ve spent so long immersed in something, putting it down can feel like abandoning it. But perhaps stepping away isn’t abandoning the work. Perhaps it’s giving myself enough distance to actually see it.

Right now, I’m too close. I’ve been the writer. Eventually, I need to become the reader.

Maybe when I come back, I’ll see something worth keeping. Maybe I’ll still think it’s a turd.

Either way, I’ll have fresh eyes and a better chance of knowing.

And then there is the rose.

Yesterday, I also took a photo of a rose, it smelled beautiful. Roses need manure to grow. So that’s what I’m hoping this turd turns out to be.

Fertiliser for something I can’t quite see yet.