"I just don't know if it's any good," I confessed. "I mean, I hope draft two is better than draft one, but honestly? I have no idea."

I was on the phone with my friend Jessica, a knot of anxiety churning in my stomach. I'd just submitted a complete rewrite of my book Do Loss; the first draft had been rough, and I had poured everything I had into V2.

I knew she couldn’t tell me that my editor would love this latest draft, but if I’m honest, I was expecting her to say something like, “You put in all that hard work. It’s got to be better!”

Jessica did not take the expected route.

"You know," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "even this revised version is going to need more work. I'm no author, but I'm pretty confident that's just how book writing goes."

My heart sank.

"Sue, you're learning to be a better writer, not getting a grade."

Damn. She had me there.

Because that's exactly what I was doing — waiting for my report card. I wanted to know if I was going to get a gold star or an F-...

But Jessica wasn't done reality-checking me.

"This is the gift," she continued. "Getting the chance to improve something that matters so much to you. You're not trying to get an A+ on draft two. You're trying to make Do Loss as good as it can possibly be."

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Weeks later, this feedback is still ringing in my ears. Jessica had cut through my b******t to remind me what actually mattered — not proof that my hard work was paying off, but writing a book that truly helped people.

However, my old operating system was completely sabotaging that goal — I was more focused on being done than embracing the process of improvement.

God, how often do we do this? We read a single parenting book expecting to finally understand our teenager. We plan the perfect vacation and think that should solve all our relationship issues. We rush to solve our friends’ problems, rather than just letting them think through things out loud.

We have been trained to believe that swift completion is the mark of success, and if we work hard enough, that completion should also come with a good grade. Growing up, I literally got $1 for every A on my report card. Then in college and business school, high test scores were more likely to land me a good job. And when I was an associate, it was all about turning in well-executed projects… You get the picture. For decades, I perfected the art of "work hard, turn in assignment, get gold star, move on." Honor rolls and promotions trained us to crave this cycle of completion and approval like lab rats pressing a lever.

Then suddenly we're adults trying to master things that actually matter — relationships, parenting, creative work — and we're still assuming one “semester” of hard work should be all it takes.

But mastery has a different trajectory. Instead of seeking our mark of approval so we can move on, we’re aiming for incremental progress — sharpening our skills over and over so we can continuously improve our craft, whether it be writing or communicating or barbecue.

As Jessica snapped me out my gold-star obsession, I felt the way I was relating to the book manuscript change. Accepting that the work ahead would be incremental and non-linear wasn’t discouraging. It was liberating.

Instead of white-knuckling my way toward some imaginary finish line, I could settle into the rhythm of revision. I could focus on making this paragraph clearer, that chapter stronger, releasing the constant wondering about if my work would finally earn me a pat on the head.

When we want to be the best we can be, rather than simply being “done”, the only thing to do is embrace the messy, ongoing work of getting better.

Even when no one notices. Even when we suck at it. Even when our hard work doesn’t immediately result in progress.

Weeks later, my editor sent back her comments. Opening the email, I felt that familiar tension. But Jessica's voice pulsed through my anxiety: “You're learning to be a better writer. What a gift.”

So instead of bracing for a grade, I leaned in. Each suggestion became a lesson to learn from, not a judgment to endure. And you know what? The book got better. Much better. So good that it's now in the hands of the copy editor, putting final touches on the manuscript.

Jessica helped me re-orient towards what actually serves the work, not what serves my desire to feel accomplished. She helped me see that I was seeking completion when I should have been seeking improvement.

The shift from completion-seeking to improvement-seeking changes everything. It means we get to stop waiting for or worrying about report cards. Instead, we can make the most of each opportunity to get better.

The gift isn't the gold star at the end. It's discovering we can keep improving something we care about, revision after revision.

That's worth way more than a dollar.

Here for the process,

Sue

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