In high school, my band director erased “can’t” from my vocabulary. It was a slow, sweaty, painful process. We had been a championship band, a finalist in the state for 4A high schools. But after two years of mediocre performances, we were left wondering if we were “has beens” that had become “wannabes.”
But Mr. C never settled for defeat. He delighted in giving us the most challenging routines and music while watching us rise to the occasion. And he tolerated nothing less than our absolute best, knowing that our greatest potential often lay just below our valid but weak excuses.
It took training. Sweltering hours on pavement in Texas weather, running the routine over and over again until clothes clung to sweaty frames. Then we hit the classroom, fingers meticulously skipping over the keys until we knew every note by heart and could play it standing or running at 160 beats per minute.
I remember trying and trying to get a note set correct and failing miserably (in front of fifty of my peers by the way). After the fifth time, I quit trying.
“I can’t do it.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I can’t do it, Mr. C.”
“I don’t understand that word. Try again.”
It’s amazing what I came up with in the absence of that word. I’m having trouble. This is hard. How in the world do I do this? I don’t know how. But not one of those gave me the option to stop trying. And every excuse carried with it the opportunity to discover a new journey in the struggle.
He never let me quit in the classroom or on the marching field. Slow down, sure. Take each note one finger at a time, yep. But NEVER quit. Because he knew I could if I set my mind to it, no matter the challenge.
Success lay just below the “I can’ts,” just waiting to come to fruition with the acknowledgment of “I can…somehow.” And that lesson has shaped my writing journey. Rejections became detours. “Can’ts” became other challenges to conquer.
There have been many moments when I have been tempted to say “I can’t” in the middle of writing or editing or even marketing (I might have even slipped and said it a few times). But somehow, I meet the deadline every time, proud of the finished product.
Much like with marching or learning music, I keep writing until the words become an extension and enhancement of the story instead of simply an exploration to jog my creativity. Every time I finish, I know I CAN. I just have to discover HOW. I finally determined that I wanted it much more than I feared it.
Talent and passion may come naturally to a point. But success as a result of those attributes NEVER comes without hard work and a willingness to push past rejection, defeat, and redirection. As soon as you purge the excuses, the story blooms, and it’s only a matter of time before others outside your circle begin to notice the beauty of the finished product.
By the way, when we purged the excuses, our band went on to place first in every competition that season and ended the semester and my high school career as 4A Texas State Champions.
This thing you keep attempting that you think is impossible? It’s possible. It just takes placing one foot in front of the other until you see the results.
Where do you need to erase “can’t” from your vocabulary?