When Am I Done?
What a fire, a friend, and a single sentence taught me
In our recent podcast with the founders of The Altadena Order of the Phoenix, Chelsea Cartwright and Michele Judd, Chelsea said something in recounting the loss of her home to the Eaton fire, that is haunting me. When she said it, in my mind I saw flashing neon lights repeating it! “I was waiting to be done!” I never felt like I was done.
She was talking about the remodeling and renovating of her home. It had been a work in progress when the fire happened. Her dog walking buddy and friend and co-founder had never seen the inside of her house. She was waiting for it to be finished! This is a regret and one that can’t be changed but certainly can be a life lesson.
I am one of those people. So hard to say I’m done -it doesn’t matter what it is. It relates to everything I have done. As a musician, you were never really done because you could always do better, practice one more time. Reach a higher level. Every day was different. I also have done a lot of writing, painting, whatever, creative pursuits. I just had the hardest time being done. Giving it up for the rest of the world.
I think that is one of the reasons I didn’t really like live performance. It was a one shot deal. No time to correct. No delete. No erase. Just live with it.
I realized as she was speaking that, OMG, I have made progress. Every one of the columns I write, I am done. I hit publish. No agony. Maybe I know hardly anyone reads and in a few days it’s something new anyway. That’s true in part, but I think I have learned something important. Let it go!
Maybe done doesn’t mean finished forever.
Maybe it just means finished for now.
It suddenly occurred to me that this is living in the moment and savoring that moment. Enjoying having something to say and then moving on to say something else.
If I could teach this, I would. I actually have gotten so much satisfaction in realizing I have grown. I can let it go. Everything is not perfect. It never will be. Maybe the beauty is in the imperfection? How’s that for a thought?
Maybe being “done” was never the point.
Maybe done doesn’t mean finished forever. Maybe it just means finished for now. Released. Shared. Allowed to exist outside of me.
I am still a work in progress. I hope I always am. Being done with growth would be a kind of death. But being done with a piece of writing, a thought, a season, and letting it go into the world—that feels different. That feels like trust.
In music, the performance ends whether you are ready or not. The last note hangs in the air and then it’s gone. You don’t get to pull it back. You live with it. And if you were honest in it, if you meant it, that is enough. It was an expression of that moment and couldn’t be duplicated.
I think that is what I am learning.
I don’t have to wait until the house is perfect to invite someone in. I don’t have to wait until the work is flawless to share it. I don’t have to wait until I feel “done” to let something go.
Where I am is not perfect. It never will be. But it is real. It is good enough. And it is mine.
If something I write helps someone feel seen, or less alone, or simply feel something at all, then that is the performance. That is the moment that will never be again.
And that is enough.