The Mirror's Approval

I have spent too much time looking for myself in the eyes of others. I wait for the nod, the like, the brief moment of recognition that tells me I am on the right track. This borrowed confidence is a house of cards. It looks impressive from a distance, but it has no structural integrity. It is built on the whims of a witness who doesn't actually know me, and who is looking for their own reflection in my work. I am a mirror for their expectations, rather than a window into my own truth.

Why do we care so much about the mirror? We tell ourselves it’s about connection, but it’s actually about fear. We are afraid that if we stop looking for approval, we will find that there is nothing there to approve of. We use the validation of the world to drown out the silence of our own hearts. But the more we rely on the mirror, the thinner our own reality becomes. We start to see ourselves only as the world sees us—a collection of attributes, a style, a "mask" that can be easily categorized and consumed.

To find a real foundation, you have to turn away from the mirror. you have to be willing to work in the dark, where the only approval that matters is your own. This is a slow, difficult process of reclamation. It means asking yourself what you actually need from the work, rather than what the world wants from it. It means finding a sense of internal necessity that is independent of the reaction. When you stop looking for the mirror's approval, you can finally start seeing yourself. The reflection might be messy, but it will be real.

The Hunger for Certainty

We are all starving for a sense of "knowing." We want to be sure that the path we’ve chosen is the right one, that the work we’re doing has value, and that we are, in fact, who we say we are. This hunger for certainty is what drives us toward external validation. We look for signs in the reactions of others, in the numbers on a screen, in the awards on a shelf. We hope that if enough people tell us we are good, we will finally believe it. But this borrowed confidence is a leaky bucket. No matter how much you pour in, it’s always empty by morning.

The truth is that there is no certainty in the act of creation. There is only the attempt. Every time you start a new piece, you are stepping back into the unknown. The skills you’ve learned are helpful, but they don't guarantee a result. The "knowing" is a mirage that disappears the closer you get to it. This constant state of doubt is exhausting, but it is also the only place where growth can happen. If you were certain, you wouldn't need to explore. You would just be executing a plan.

We have to learn to live with the hunger. We have to accept that doubt isn't a sign of failure, but a sign of engagement. It means you are still pushing against the boundaries of your own understanding. Instead of looking for a permanent foundation of praise, look for a temporary sense of internal necessity. Why do you have to do this? What is the question that you are trying to answer? If you can find the necessity, the lack of certainty becomes bearable. You stop trying to "be" something and you just start doing the work. The certainty is in the doing, not in the being.

The Scaffolding of Praise

Praise is a dangerous drug. It feels like a solid structure, something you can lean against when you're tired. But praise isn't part of the building; it’s just the scaffolding. It helps you reach the higher parts of your potential while you're under construction, but if you don't eventually build a solid core, you’ll find yourself standing on a platform of air when the scaffolding is removed. We often spend so much time maintaining the support system that we forget to finish the actual work.

The problem with borrowed confidence is that it requires a constant supply of external reinforcement. You become a slave to the reaction. If the reaction is positive, you are a genius; if it’s lukewarm, you are a fraud. This volatility makes it impossible to find any real peace. You are constantly building and rebuilding based on the whims of the witness. The work stops being a reflection of your truth and starts being a negotiation for your self-worth. It’s a exhausting cycle that produces a lot of noise but very little substance.

To find a real foundation, you have to be willing to work in the dark. You have to build something that you would be proud of even if no one ever saw it. This requires a different kind of strength—not the strength of the performer, but the strength of the anchor. It’s about finding the necessity within the act itself, rather than in the result. When the scaffolding finally comes down, you should be able to stand on your own two feet, looking at what you've made and knowing that it holds its own weight. The applause is just a breeze; the work is the stone.