There is a pervasive pressure in modern life to curate our experiences like a museum curator arranges an exhibition. We want to catalog our memories, label our skills, and display only the pristine, unbroken artifacts of our history. We treat our minds like archives—dusty, organized, and static.
But Ann Patchett offers a different, earthier metaphor, one that feels infinitely more true to the messy reality of being human:
“I am a compost heap, and everything I interact with, every experience I’ve had, gets shoveled onto the heap where it eventually mulches down, is digested and excreted by worms, and rots. It’s from that rich, dark humus, the combination of what you encountered, what you know and what you’ve forgotten, that ideas start to grow.”
This imagery of the compost heap is liberating because it removes the burden of purity. In a compost heap, you don’t separate the eggshells from the coffee grounds or the dead leaves from the fruit rinds. It all goes in. The triumphs, the heartbreaks, the books we read halfway, the conversations we barely remember, and the failures we wish we could forget—they are all just organic matter.
The magic, as Patchett notes, is in the digestion. We are not static repositories of information; we are active, biological processors. Time acts as the earthworms, breaking down the sharp edges of raw experience until it loses its original form.
We often fear forgetting. We worry that if we don’t hold onto a memory with a white-knuckled grip, it loses its value. But in the logic of the compost heap, “what you’ve forgotten” is just as vital as what you remember. The forgotten things are simply the matter that has broken down completely, becoming the nutrient-dense soil that supports new growth.
If we view ourselves as compost heaps, we stop fearing the “rot.” We understand that the difficult periods of decomposition are necessary to create the humus required for the next season of growth. We are not built to be archives; we are built to be gardens.
We often imagine that the solutions to our biggest problems will be loud. We expect them to arrive with the ribbon-cutting of a massive power plant, the roar of a new turbine, or the stroke of a pen on comprehensive legislation.
But in South Africa, where the national grid has become a flickering ghost of its former self, the solution isn’t arriving with a bang. It is arriving in the form of a 23-pound box, carried by hand into a tin shack, priced at two dollars a day.
I was reading a recent story in The New York Times about the rental battery boom in townships like Tembisa. It describes a barber, Anselmo Munghabe, who was forced to close his shop for a month because the grid couldn’t keep his clippers running. His livelihood—his connection to his community—was severed not by a lack of skill, but by a lack of voltage. Then came the rental batteries: portable, solar-charged blocks of energy that can be rented, used to power a business or a nebulizer or a television, and then swapped out.
“Renting a small battery is far cheaper than buying solar panels and batteries outright. ‘I think this is a game changer,’ said Ifeoma Malo… ‘This is creating inclusiveness in access.'” — The New York Times
There is something profoundly philosophical in this shift from the “macro” to the “micro.” For decades, the assumption was that the state provides the power, and the citizen consumes it. It was a vertical relationship, dependent on the stability of the giant at the top. But as South Africa’s coal-heavy grid stumbles under the weight of age and mismanagement, that vertical trust has broken. In its place, a horizontal, modular resilience is emerging.
This isn’t just about electricity; it is about agency. When you rent a battery for the day, you are no longer waiting for permission to work, to learn, or to breathe. You are uncoupling your fate from the failures of the system. It reminds me of the way the internet decentralized information—now, solar technology and battery storage are decentralizing the very energy of life.
Of course, there is a melancholy here, too. It is an indictment of a system that forces its most vulnerable citizens to pay a premium for what should be a basic utility. And yet, there is undeniable beauty in the adaptation. We see the grandmother powering her TV to stay connected to the world, and the barber sweeping hair from the floor under the glow of an LED strip powered by stored sunlight.
We spend so much time waiting for the world to be fixed from the top down. But perhaps the real story of our time is that we are learning to carry the light ourselves, one heavy, rental box at a time.
Kelly’s advice stands apart from the common wisdom that we should always strive to be the best by doing our utmost. In a world that constantly pushes us to compete and compare, there is something incredibly freeing about the notion of rejecting that rat race entirely.
“Don’t be the best, be the only” is a reminder that true success and fulfillment often come from carving your own unique path, rather than trying to climb to the top of someone else’s ladder.
It’s an idea that deeply resonates for any creative soul who has felt the sting of having their work measured and ranked against arbitrary standards and tastes. How can you be the “best” writer when writing is so subjective? The “best” artist when art is meant to provoke different responses in different viewers? We secretly know that concepts of better and best are flawed when it comes to creative expression.
And yet, we are conditioned nearly from birth to see life as a competition – to be smarter, prettier, more accomplished than our peers. We are repeatedly asked by teachers, parents, employers, “What makes you the best candidate?” As if we must relentlessly pursue that elusive #1 spot, which can only have one holder at a time until someone new swipes it away.
What a profoundly different and enlivening perspective to simply say, “I’m not chasing ‘best.’ My goal is to be the ‘only.'” Not better, but different. To create a novel blend of vision and craft that is utterly new and unlike any other offering in the world.
It means doubling down on what makes you unique rather than tempering those interesting edges to fit conventional molds. It means zigging when others zag, embracing your personal quirks and experiences as puzzle pieces that culminate in a new shape. One that perhaps only you could construct.
There is a deep self-knowledge required to get there, an ability to tune out the noise in our mind that is always eager to tell us where we fall short and what we must do to be validated. Instead, go further inward and listen to the quiet hum of your own creativity, allowing it to guide you towards a novel magic that only you can create.
It’s an incredibly brave and almost defiant stance. A willing abdication of the endless pecking order tournaments we are drafted into throughout life. A saying of, “I do not want to be ranked or graded. My work and expression will be something wholly original that becomes a new category unto itself.”
In Kelly’s case, being an “only” seems to have stemmed from zealously pursuing a wide range of kaleidoscopic interests, starting unique initiatives, peering over the horizon, and connecting disparate dots that others missed.
Perhaps the greatest challenge in striving to “be the only” is having the courage to stay true to your unique vision, even when it defies conventional wisdom or expectations. It requires an unwavering belief in your distinctive voice and the patience to carve out your own path, one peculiar step at a time. Those who achieve that rarefied space of being truly inimitable likely navigate long periods of being misunderstood or underestimated before their original perspectives start to resonate.
Ultimately, the pursuit of “only” is about more than just creative success – it’s about living and working with uncompromising authenticity. About being willing to be misunderstood by others, sometimes by harsh critics who’d rather see you struggle. When you stop measuring yourself against external yardsticks and wholeheartedly embrace what makes you your own idiosyncratic self, you open up vast frontiers of possibility. You give yourself permission to be precisely who you are, to contribute the unique only you can offer this world. And perhaps, in doing so, you’ll inspire others to boldly cherish and amplify their own distinctive brilliance as well.
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