The Art of Letting Go (of my busted pottery pieces)

Every step is a new opportunity to f*ck it up.

I’d been falling in love with ceramics one handmade mug at a time, the kinds I picked up at farmers markets and neighborhood shops. Supporting local artists was part of the joy, but I couldn’t stop wondering how a lump of clay became a beautiful mug or bowl.

Naturally, I went down an internet rabbit hole to satisfy my curiosity. But the more reels I watched, the more curious I became. One of my charming(?) personality traits is that I’ll watch a video and immediately think, “That doesn’t look that hard. I could totally do that!”

I knew trying pottery would require some kind of time commitment and planning and scheduling and all the things you use as excuses not to do something, so I filed it under “someday.” Someday I’ll take a class. Someday, when I have more time.

Then I got laid off. And “someday” arrived! Suddenly, I had free time. And instead of filling that time with job applications, productivity guilt, and doom spiraling, I signed up for a six-week intro to wheel throwing class at my local pottery studio.

Not to be dramatic, but it changed my life. (And I’m sticking with it! I’m on my third round of intro to wheel throwing. I’m a fast learner unless it comes to doing things with my hands, apparently.)

I thought I was just going to learn how to make a mug. Instead, I learned the art of letting go.

It was supposed to be just a fun hobby to pass the time — something tactile and real to balance out all the screen time. But somewhere between being absolutely covered in clay and the hundredth attempt at centering on the wheel, it made me realize the process was about so much more than just making a (tiny, lopsided) cup. Pottery, it turns out, has been helping me unlearn perfectionism and teaching me a lot of life lessons.

I’ve spent most of my life trying to get things “right.” I like plans, checklists, and outcomes I can control. (It’s starting to make sense that I’m a program manager, right?). And yet, here I was, sitting at a wheel, using muscles I didn’t know I had, hunched over a spinning hunk of clay that didn’t give a shit about my goals. It wobbled. It got uncentered. It collapsed. It got decapitated. It flew off the wheel. It got on my shirt, my pants, my shoes, my hair, and, occasionally, my face. No matter how careful or intentional I was, the process refused to be perfect. I had no choice but to surrender and meet it where it was — or give up entirely.

Here are some of the lessons I’ve learned about pottery and life.

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Let It Be Wobbly

One of the first lessons pottery teaches you — and harshly, I might add — is: don’t get attached. Every step is a new opportunity to fuck it up. Your piece might collapse mid-throw. It might get destroyed during trimming. It might be ugly af. It might crack while drying. It might crack in the kiln. You could go through the whole process thinking you did everything right, and it still might be jacked up because the glaze is gonna glaze. Sometimes, it just doesn’t work. That doesn’t mean you don’t work. It just means… shit happens.

Perfectionism tells us that success comes from getting it right the first time. The pottery wheel laughs in your face.

I’ve learned to embrace the wobble. A bowl that’s slightly off-center is a bowl that has character! That has a handmade imprint! That is unique! I still try to make centered and symmetrical pieces, but I don’t beat myself up as much now when I don’t reach those goals.

Don’t Push Too Hard

There’s something incredibly humbling about realizing that effort isn’t always the answer. Forcing the clay to bend to your will might decapitate your piece or cause it to fly off the wheel (ask me how I know). Some days, the more you try, the worse it gets. Something that became incredibly clear to me during pottery class: I don’t do well at anything when I’m frustrated.

When I start overthinking or trying too hard or want to scream because I can’t get anything right, I can feel everything go sideways. 

There was a point in my first intro class when my instructor Jeanette said to me, “Amanda. I can see you thinking.” Oh. It took me a while to practice “less thinking, more doing”, but I can attest that it works.

I’ve learned to accept that some days just won’t go well. And that doesn’t mean I’m doing anything wrong; it just means I’m human.

Some Things You Just Feel

Related to not pushing too hard or forcing things… When Jeanette walked me through how to cone the clay up and down, she asked, “Did you feel that?” It sounds crazy, and it doesn’t make any sense until you experience it. When something’s working on the wheel, you feel it. Your hands are in the right position, the clay responds, and for a moment, everything just flows. You’re not thinking about getting it right — you’re just in it. And it doesn’t come from forcing anything. It comes from showing up again and again until your hands and your body learn what your brain couldn’t control.

Don’t Panic

When the clay doesn’t do what I expect, or when I’m trying something new and everything feels off, my first instinct is to freak out and abruptly stop or change what I’m doing. But that only makes things worse.

Instead, I’m learning to slow down and breathe (just not while I’m pulling walls though, iykyk). My inner monologue is often “dontfreakoutdontfreakout”. The worst that can happen is I smush my pot, scrape it off the bat, get a fresh ball of clay, and try again. Giving myself that grace in the low-stakes environment of the studio has started to ripple into how I handle stress and setbacks in everyday life.

Practice, Practice, Practice

Insert something here about how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.

There’s no shortcut in pottery. You can’t think your way into being good at it. You can watch all the tutorials, memorize the steps, and know exactly what should happen — and still end up with a rainbow (a smushed pot that you form into a rainbow to let dry to reuse later). The only way to get better is to keep showing up.

Practice is the not-so-secret secret. Each throw teaches your hands something new. You get a little stronger, a little steadier, a little more tuned in. Sometimes it feels like you’re making the same mistake over and over, and then suddenly something clicks. And that moment only comes because you kept practicing.

This has been so healing for my perfectionist brain. Instead of striving to be good right away, I’ve started to appreciate the process of becoming good… through doing, messing up, and trying again. 

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I still can’t throw a cylinder much taller than a soup can. My bowls are often bottom heavy. I hate making mugs because handles are the worst (side note: there is a REASON handmade mugs are more expensive than plates and bowls, even if they’re smaller!). I can’t make a vaguely similar set, forget about a matching set (yet!!!).

But I’ve stopped expecting perfection. I’ve started to like being a beginner. I’ve started to trust that good things come from the mess. I’ve learned that results take time, patience, and a lot of oops. And I’ve committed to the process! Of continuing my ceramics education, of building my pottery muscles (my god does my lower back hurt sometimes), and of letting go — not just at the studio, but everywhere else too.