Two weeks ago, I decided to quit writing.
I’d had it with all the trying and all the rejection. I felt like one of those couches on the side of the road with a “free” sign on it. One that was left out overnight in a hailstorm and all the neighborhood dogs had peed on.
There’s a reason there are so many jokes about the life of an artist. There is something uniquely difficult about a situation where you create something from your soul and then hope others see its value.
And therein lies the problem. The way I feel about my work is completely dependent on the opinions of others. I struggle to create from my soul, trying instead to produce something marketable or remarkable or unforgettable.
It’s like trying to sell authenticity rather than just being authentic.
I’ve been censoring myself, imagining how my words or ideas or font choice will be judged by others, all in hopes of creating what people want. Ironically, my attempt to crack the code of “success” keeps me locked into the very dynamic I seek liberation from.
And it hasn’t worked.
So, I decided to quit. Time to stop waiting for lightening to strike. Time to grow up and get on with it. You’ve got a kid in college; it’s time to earn more consistent money.
(Ever notice how self-judgement always sounds like a parent?)
I felt immediate relief. Phew! I can stop doing this thing that is hard and brave and risky.
The relief lasted for about twelve minutes before being replaced by a yawning ache. I pictured myself at a 9-5 job, someone who used to be a writer. My life stretched out before me, years stacked upon each other, devoid of meaning. I felt like I’d lost something precious.
You know what’s harder than being an artist? Not being an artist. Real writers can’t not write.
Flip the Script
In her book Big Magic, Liz Gilbert talks about the unfair pressure it creates to expect your art to make you money. It can deeply impact your enjoyment, expression and creativity. Trying to make a product others want only blights your authentic expression. Her advice? Do it because you love it.
It's been a while since I found pure joy in creating. Striving takes a great deal of energy and is a fun thief. Focusing on outcomes takes me out of my body, out of the present, which is the only place flow is possible.
I didn’t need to quit my dream. I needed to quit trying so hard.
But I also needed to make money. So I took up part-time Door Dashing. At first, I felt ashamed, embarrassed when I saw someone I knew. My wife is at her important job with her mad skills and graduate degree and I’m driving around bringing Chipotle to the people.
Then I thought of actors who waits tables, ballet dancers who tend bar and singers who moonlight as janitors, and I flipped the script.
I’m Door Dashing to support my writing. Because it matters that much to me. Because I’m worth pursuing my calling. I’m earning money in this easy, flexible, self-chosen way that leaves me time and energy for my art (and allows me to listen to audio books while I work!).
I’m not a failure. I’m a genius.
Choose the Story You Tell
I’ve written two novels and a short-film screenplay. I’ve been writing this blog for four years and spent the ten years prior blogging about family life. I’ve received hundreds of rejections from agents and novel contests. I’ve been fired from an important project and had both of my novels short-listed in novel fairs.
I’ve had plenty of success and failure. I can tell either story; it just depends which day you catch me.
Success is a problematic idea. How do you know you’ve achieved it? And if you have a singular goal (publication), are you only a success when that happens? What about all the mini successes, the ladder of accomplishment and growth along the way?
Maybe simply continuing toward what we want is success. Maybe rising after we fall is success. Maybe throwing out the measure for creative endeavor and prioritizing process over outcome is success.
Maybe believing in ourselves is the biggest success of all.
Your Dream is Here FOR You
My decision to quit trying so hard has been a renewal for me, the beginning of so many new possibilities about my self-concept and my work.
What if our dreams are part of our life’s design, something assigned to each of us when we entered this wild place, ours to nurture and follow, our teacher, our guide, an avenue devoted to our fulfillment? What if our dysfunctional, cortisol-filled relationship to it is an unfortunate misunderstanding of its purpose?
What if “getting somewhere” isn’t the point? What if it’s not about the world’s response to our work but about the joy and freedom and satisfaction we feel making it? What if the dream feeding us is the entire damn point?
I’ve been waiting my whole life to be on my own side. I finally understand that it’s a choice I must make. And make again and again. I understand that until I approve of myself, no one else’s approval will be enough to convince me I’m worthy.
So I’ve decided I’m good enough to pursue what I love and to get on with it. I’m not the water-logged couch on the side of the road. Even when I feel like it.
Doubt still sits behind me, an annoying backseat driver. This is my response when she gets mouthy:
I will not pretend to be less than I am. I’m done worrying about arrogance or thinking too highly of myself. I will not let other’s fickle opinions become my truth. Take me or leave me. Join me or reject me. No matter. I’m doing what I came here to do, and I don’t need anyone’s permission.
Authenticity is about owning our truth, including all the unique, incredible things that we are. It’s about refusing to dim our light if it’s too bright for others and refusing to quiet down to make others more comfortable.
This is how we learn to believe in ourselves. By acting like someone who has a right to her own dreams and be herself.
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