MAUVAISE FOI

The rain pouring down in a typical gloomy & gray British day, We follow a man in his 40s, immaculately dressed in a tailored blue suit. He enters a building. Folding up his now dripping wet umbrella.  He has a bag in his other hand.

He takes in the building, a familiar sight to him,, with its unique design, It’s split into 3 sections, the entrance where he stands has a patterned marble/tile floor. To his left, wooden flooring And the counter of the coffee shop he has entered. To his right more wooden flooring with a large seating area. Groups and couples, dotted around. Directly in front of him are 2 sets of 2 armchairs facing one another. It’s the most dimly lit place in the building.   The separation dictated by the skeleton of the old town hall, still clearly visible with pictures serving as a reminder of what the place used to 

He has now made his way to the back of the 3 person queue.

Nodding his head to the lo-fi calming pop songs that play as he awaits his order.  As he gets to the counter, before he can even say a word. The barista’s voice calls out. “Vanilla latte, and chocolate cookie, warmed up.” He smiles and nods. “ One of these days i’ll change it just to catch you off guard., How are you? “

Having placed his order he makes his way over to them arm chairs in the dim middle section, the more isolated section. He places his bag on the ground, before sinking into the armchair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Not a minute after, the barista has brought his tray over. He thanks him and brings the tall latte glass to his mouth and lets a simple smile at the familiar comfortable sweetness of his usual drink. 

He pulls out a tiny  pocket sized notebook, from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Followed by a pen, he clicks it open. Opens the cover of the notebook, which has the word ARTIST handwritten on it as

Well as . “Book of thoughts #359”

He flicks to the nearest blank page in the book, it’s closer to the end than the beginning.. He begins writing.

“I must never forget what I’m working towards. It's frustrating how little time I have to do the things that set my heart aflame the most., but I  can’t forget the dream. It’s the hope that keeps me young at heart. Of course, my age now makes it difficult to make errors towards it, my next step must be perfect so i can’t rush…..”

He takes a moment to think. Leaning back in his chair looking out,  his eyes initially focusing on the rain he can see through the window, but later it’s clear he’s in a mental daze rather than staring at anything in particular

His daze snapped by a young man in his early-mid 20s in a hoodie, and a backpack, he takes a seat on the arm chair, that's free to his right. 

He watches as the young man sits through his backpack and pulls out many notebooks. And a laptop. 

The older man smiles, remembering the days he would sit there doing the same thing. 

He looks at the young man who is so keenly focused on his writing , that he doesn;t even notice the older man watching him. Writing notes in one book, before replacing that book with another with more notes.

The old man took another sip of his drink. Looking back down at his own, he remembers the way his thoughts used to pour out of him, crashing down onto the page with an enthusiasm, passion and belief that doesn’t appear to be there any moment.. Now, the words he jots down seemed like nothing more than a reminder of how much time had passed, how much further he was from the dream he had once chased so fervently..

He  clicks his pen, forcing the words onto the page: "But what if... What if the pursuit of perfection is the very thing that holds me back?"

“I lack productivity and label it as perfectionism. That I'm striving to be someone who wants quality over quantity in the end I got neither. The passion for writing is still there but I lost the courage, so I set myself up to fail because it's easier to accept I failed due to a lack of effort. Then to try my best and not succeed.”

Leaning back deflated Like the weight of the words are crashing down on top of him, he shakes his head and gives a wry smile, frustrated. The words MAUVAISE FOI  - (bad faith ) echo in his mind taking over every thought.  He remembers hearing the term when he was younger, he scoffed at it, he could never imagine living life in such a way. 

But the realization that for the past 20 years, he’s spent his time coming to the same place, ordering the same drink, writing stories, creating worlds and he put in more than 10000 hours to become a master, but was too afraid to try. 

He looks over to the younger man, who is too focused on his own medium. He couldn’t help but wonder. Is this kid chasing an ideal reality, or is he trapping himself in an illusion, an endless cycle of false progress, with no major steps forward..

He waits for one moment before continuing on

“”I spent too long obsessing, waiting for the “perfect moment” but the truth is it doesn’t exist. Some people discover their passions young and pursue it with all their heart. Others drift away and fight their way back. Whilst most, never truly pursue them. I must make a choice.” He slams shut his notebook, putting it away.

He remembers another Jean-Paul Satre quote "“People are like dice. We throw ourselves in the direction of our own choosing.”

He picks up his bag and his umbrella. He begins making his way to the exit. But first stops Turns to the young man and says “can I give you some advice?”

The young man takes a second and looks up with an unmistakable glint in his eye.” Uh, Sure.”

"Don’t wait for it to be perfect," the older man said, nodding toward the stack of notebooks. "Whatever you're working on—don’t wait for the right time. Just start, make mistakes, fail. Because the longer you wait, the more you’ll find reasons to never do it."

He turns with a smile, the weight off his shoulders. When he’s out he doesn’t open his umbrella instead smiles and stares into the sky. Embracing the rain…and what’s next to come. 

Back inside the coffee shop the young man pulls out a small notebook from his hoodie’s kangaroo pouch. The words ”ARTIST” and “book of thoughts #1” handwritten on it. 

He writes the word. “No such thing as perfect; the perfect time, the perfect work.... perfect doesn’t exist.

For More on Mauvaise Foi check out: What is Mauvaise Foii? - And how to overcome it?