Ellington

In his classic work on creativity, "The Gift," Lewis Hyde likens artistic output to the gift giving of indigenous people. Creativity is a sacred thing to be shared and passed on, like a fine pipe of tobacco among some Native Americans, not something to be squirreled away or used up for personal gain. "Whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again, not kept," he writes. "Or, if it is kept, something of similar value should move on in its stead, the way a billiard ball may stop when it sends another scurrying across the felt, its momentum transferred."

Teachers will recognize the concept: To teach well is to pass on the knowledge we have been given to our students. In our deepest hearts, every teacher wants her students to do better than she has, to stretch beyond what she knows. The challenge is keeping the gift fresh, alive and in motion, otherwise we just teach dead, boring concepts, selections on a multiple-choice quiz.
    
Every three months or so, the JFP sees a new crop of young (and not-so-young) interns eager to learn what it takes to be "real" writers, journalists and editors, photographers and graphic designers, event planners and marketing pros.
    
Our not-so-hidden secret is that we give everyone a chance who has the gumption to walk through our doors for an internship interview. Here, as the folks working in those fields, one of our jobs is to pass on our gifts.
    
Trust me: It's not as selfless and grand as it sounds. Anyone who has tried to teach anything—whether to a classroom, a child or an employee—knows that to do even a half-assed job of teaching is sometimes frustrating and always time-consuming. It's hard work. Some students aren't ready to get what you've got, while others think they already know better. Thank God that teaching is often gratifying; otherwise, I don't think any of us would do it for long.
    
I'm always surprised and humbled when an intern—we have had about 20 this summer—mentions my name in his or her writing. I'm often more than twice their age, and I'm sure some find me intimidating at first. Most of them know that I started here as an intern. What they may not know, until now, is that each of them is already an artist. Regardless of technical knowledge, someone gave them a gift. It is my honor to nurture those gifts (as others have nurtured mine), finding the delicate balance between being too tough and too easy, treating them all with compassion, yet always asking for their best work.
    
I doubt that my intentions feel noble to them when I hand back stories covered in red ink. It's a little like asking one of my yoga students to hold a pose for "just" another breath or two despite trembling muscles and sweat trickling into her eyes. For my yoga students, the advanced version of any posture includes turning the corners of their mouths up in a smile. For JFP interns, advanced learning happens when they take their red-inked story back and rework it, polishing off the rough edges, re
arranging the pieces, finding the perfect word instead of one that's merely good enough.
    
It's not easy for them, I know. It's hard work. For those who embrace the challenge, it is my joy to watch them grow and learn and see their work published in the JFP or BOOM or online.
    
To every intern I've had the pleasure to work with, thank you. And shine on. I expect great things from your gifts. Just be sure to give them away.