Lessons From The Pottery Wheel
Embracing Failure* and the Power of Nothingness
My 6.5-year-old grandson and I are establishing a tradition: spending time at the pottery wheel during our vacation. Armed each with two lumps of clay, a wheel, and guided instructions, we dive into the experience with lots of hands-on help.
Withholding my innate instinct to dive right in and experiment, this year I resolved to approach the process with patience and focus. Last year's attempt had humbled me; wheeling pottery, I learned, is much harder than it looks. So, I arrived this time humbled and with fewer expectations, full of curiosity, and determined to figure it out. I also knew that if things went haywire, I could lean on the instructor's expertise to fix it. Good thing for me!
Despite my efforts to follow each step carefully, my lump of clay quickly deteriorated into a formless mass. The instructor, assessing the damage, declared it beyond repair and suggested I throw it away and sit this one out.
In a small group, seated in a circle, this felt like being called out for failing. My clay was deemed unsalvageable, even by a master potter. In the past, this might have felt humiliating. I could easily have spiraled into thoughts like, "I’ve been outdone by a 6-year-old," or "Is the circle judging me?" But this time, I observed these thoughts as they surfaced and reminded myself that they didn’t need to define my experience. The thoughts didn’t matter unless I allowed them to take over.
Yes, I failed. Out of eight people, I was the one asked to wait while others continued their projects. My 6-year-old grandson pressed on, but instead of feeling defeated, I reveled in the situation, accepting it as it was—something that wasn’t always possible for me in the past.
Pottery wheeling is hard! Observing thoughts takes practice. And in a way, the two are related. Just as the wheel keeps spinning, controlled by a foot pedal, our thoughts keep spinning in our minds. When creating something (or nothing) from a lump of clay, we control the speed and direction. Similarly, we can learn to control the pace of our thoughts and detach from them. Thoughts can create something negative or, when left to spin out, can create nothing—often a more peaceful outcome.
In the end, my second lump of clay was salvaged and turned into something that was fired and now serves a purpose. It stands as a reminder that failure and nothingness are powerful teachers. They teach us patience, humility, and the art of letting go.
*Failure has many definitions. One can be that the outcome is not as desired, planned or anticipated. Failure also has layers and perhaps failure is better defined as not learning and observing when outcomes are different than expected. In this context, the whole experience was not a failure. Oh, the power of words!