The Amateur’s Edge: Why You Should Embrace the “Rough Draft” Phase

In the professional world, “Amateur” is often used as an insult. It implies a lack of polish, a lack of stakes, or a lack of skill. But the word actually comes from the Latin amator—a lover. An amateur is someone who does something purely for the love of it, without the pressure of a “final deadline” or a public review.

We have become so obsessed with “Mastery” and “Optimization” that we’ve forgotten how to just play. We don’t take up painting; we “launch an art side-hustle.” We don’t go for a run; we “train for a marathon.” We have edited the joy out of the process in favor of the result.

1. The “Expert” Trap
The more you know about a subject, the harder it is to have a “Big Idea.” Experts are prisoners of what they already know. They know the rules, the boundaries, and the “correct” way to do things.

But a beginner has “The Editor’s Curiosity.” Because they don’t know the rules, they are free to break them. By taking up a new hobby—whether it’s learning a language, pottery, or coding—you force your brain out of its “Auto-Correct” mode. You start to see patterns you never noticed before. To stay sharp, you must regularly put yourself in situations where you are the least knowledgeable person in the room.

2. The Beauty of the “Ugly” First Draft
In writing, the “First Draft” is meant to be bad. Its only job is to exist. If you try to edit while you’re creating, you’ll never finish a single sentence.

Most people never start a new project because they are comparing their “First Draft” to someone else’s “Final Edition.” They see a master pianist and feel discouraged by their own scales. But the “Struggle” is the point. The frustration of your fingers not doing what your brain wants is the sound of new neural pathways being built. Permission to be mediocre is the greatest gift you can give your creativity.

3. Vulnerability as a Brand
We think people want us to be perfect. In reality, people are bored by perfection. As an editor, I can tell you that a story with no conflict and no mistakes is a story that nobody reads.

When you allow yourself to be a beginner—to fail publicly, to ask “stupid” questions, to laugh at your own incompetence—you become a magnetic person. You give everyone else in the room permission to be human, too. You move from being a “Polished Product” to a “Work in Progress,” and that is a much more interesting narrative to follow.