The Wound of Someone Striving for Excellence for the First Time

(Prefer reading this in Spanish? Click here)

We tend to be hard on ourselves. Pending projects and unfinished work often overshadow our current efforts, and when we don’t see immediate results, we tend to downplay the value of the process and the learning we’re going through, considering it insignificant in the eyes of others. We often measure our worth by achievements: some people can be proud of themselves and use those accomplishments as anchors, as proof of their abilities. But many others, like me, don’t have such references in memory, lacking tangible evidence to “support” their confidence.

That’s when it feels like walking on a tightrope. Doubts keep creeping in: Will I make it? Am I good enough? Is it too late for me? Can I succeed even though I’ve never “achieved” anything in my life? (Yes, we tend to exaggerate like that, don’t we?). Yet, we keep moving forward, carrying that doubt like a shadow that follows every step of the way.

Let’s pause and think a bit about why this happens.

The creative process mirrors the mind: a balanced mind can focus on what’s in front of it to create what’s needed. But when the mind is clouded by expectations of perfection, comparisons, and catastrophic thinking, creativity gets interrupted and stops flowing naturally.

Speaking of this… I remember one of the conclusions I reached on the topic when, like every late-blooming teenager (a random term I coined for my existential crises), I started tormenting myself, wanting to be “less me and more someone else,” not just in video editing but more broadly—in personality and appearance. But soon I realized: that “someone else” doesn’t necessarily have any special merit. Yes, I repeat, they have no verifiable merit, because we don’t know what lies behind their achievements. These are blunt statements, I know, but let me give an example:

Imagine two photographers. The first seems naturally gifted, produces stunning images effortlessly, and constantly receives praise. The second struggles with every shot, studies tirelessly, makes mistakes, and gradually improves. Who has more merit? The answer isn’t as simple as it seems, because we don’t know the full story of either person—their internal struggles, their hours of practice, their moments of doubt…

The “naturally talented” person may have had previous exposure, even unconsciously, maybe their parents enrolled them in art courses, maybe they have a better camera because they can afford it, or perhaps they had access to multiple courses with top teachers—or even deeper, their personality might have developed in ways that suit this activity.

“If only Piglet was more like me, and less like him.”

Meanwhile, the person struggling to learn may appear behind, but not in merit: though it seems they’re further back, they’re developing fundamental skills like perseverance, problem-solving, and the ability to learn from mistakes—all on their own, navigating chaos. In this context, it’s not just about the final result, but the entire process of growth and self-discovery that learning entails.

Piglet will always be more Piglet than Tigger. But he can learn to cultivate courage and boldness in his own way

Some things are given to us by chance from birth, while others must be built with effort and dedication. Our origins, character, early education, family circumstances—all of this forms a unique starting point we didn’t choose. But what we do with the cards we’ve been dealt is what truly defines our path.

Everyone is living a different life; comparing ourselves to others, wanting to be someone else, or resenting our past and limitations doesn’t make sense. Life has its ups and downs. Things worth achieving (because they challenge us to push our limits) won’t come naturally at first; everything requires time, space, and consistency for the brain to process information that gradually leads to excellence.

Those of us who feel we’ve “achieved nothing” in the past must walk forward despite doubts and the usual comparisons, focusing more on what we do than on how we do it or whether it meets others’ expectations.

If others are good at what they do, we should rejoice, say “well done!” and keep moving forward, because feeling victimized by successful people is undervaluing ourselves, giving them responsibility they don’t deserve, and even credit that doesn’t reflect our own challenge. It’s okay to be imperfect and to be trying.

The conclusion is clear:

What I do now is my responsibility and my choice. What I did before can’t be changed, and what others have done has nothing to do with me. I don’t need to measure myself against someone else with their own challenges; it’s like comparing incomparable things.

Of course, living by this principle isn’t automatic. It’s natural to feel competitive, to see those seemingly ahead of you as existing only to make life harder. In creative work, insecurity may linger, but it shouldn’t dominate; life is beautiful, truly, and we are the protagonists of our own story.

Success? I’ve come to realize that true success is freeing yourself from expectations, guilt, and victimhood, and simply doing your best in the moment, noting what doesn’t work to improve next time. Success is living each day steadily and lovingly; the goal isn’t what matters, the steps do.

If something frustrates you and feels like a tough challenge, it doesn’t mean you’re failing—it’s an opportunity to learn in a memorable way, which becomes long-term growth. Everything serves a purpose, even challenges made of the unknown, things we don’t fully understand yet. It’s just a matter of time.

I then came up with a practical idea to help act consistently with this conclusion. I wrote it for myself, but it might help you too:

To focus on yourself and what you’re doing right now, the best thing before creating is to set an intention. Visualize yourself working with concentration, clarity, and calm. When reviewing shots or elements, see the overall work or the vibe you want to achieve.

It can also help to ask questions about style: how much time can you invest, which creative elements could you use, and if it’s unclear, what small-step structure could you follow to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

Finally, I invite myself—and you—to enjoy the process. Don’t see a problem as a monster that can devour your worth as a creative, video editor, or person, but as a teacher presenting a challenge that will elevate you. A partner, not an enemy. And remember, every challenge is an opportunity for growth, a sign that we’re expanding our limits toward new horizons.