I wrote a couple of drafts of what I
hoped to have posted yesterday. The words seemed lacking in exact
meaning, and I failed to express my feelings in any way appropriate
to my current state of mind. But I've been here before, many times
before, when life converges, then diverges again in a watershed
moment.
I must no longer identify with “I am
an author.” The experiment is ended—for now. I won't stop writing
(it's too much fun and too interesting to give up), but I think for
the foreseeable future, writing will not be my main priority as it's
been for the better part of a year.
Fact is, I have a problem with
perfectionism, with this feeling that I must be a “somebody.” I
do a pretty good job about not caring about being anyone important,
but I've worked writing up so much in the last several months that
every time I sit down to write, or even more, when I don't sit
down to write, I am reminded that I am not somebody. Such a
burden on my mind, and I do not care to have it. If success means
tormenting myself for not living up to society's standards of fame
and fortune, I'll gladly do something else.
Anything else, but not try, not force
myself to write for money, for fame, for success.
Call this my “fuck it” moment.
Now it's out of the way, and I can talk
about positive things! Like the fact that I do not plan on quitting
writing. I'm going to tone it down a bit, but I still hope to be
consistent (an hour a day, a little for the blog, a little for a
story, a little poetry or whatever). My main focus will turn to LIFE.
Right now the most fun I'm having with
anything I'm doing is my studying of the Spanish language. I've been
studying it on and off for several years, and I have a pretty solid
understanding of the language and a pretty basic vocabulary, but I
want to push myself for the rest of this year to reach some sort of
mastery.
The main difference between spending
most of my time writing, and most of my time studying Spanish is that
Spanish is tangible. They're both dealing with language, with words,
which I absolutely love, but with Spanish I can open more doors in my
life than I can with writing. They're not mutually exclusive of
course, but I need something concrete, practical.
Learning Spanish, I'm a stone's throw away from more career options,
not to mention the fact that my beautiful girlfriend's entire family
speaks Spanish as their native language. I see in Spanish a quicker,
more effective way to gain some success, because it's something I can
actually show people, and do.
Another focus in my life at this time
is in my spiritual development—and this is directly tied to my
anxiety disorder.
I'm a very phobic person (very neurotic), and for as
much confidence as I have in my abilities and in myself as a human
being, I have an equal amount of doubt and hesitation to actually
unfold myself and enter back into society. Yet that is exactly what
I've been doing for the last couple of months, breaking out here or
there, doing this or that, unfolding as the flower unfolds in the
morning sun after a long, damp night.
I've been helped along tremendously by a friend who has moved back to town recently, and by my girlfriend who continues to support me even though her own fears are evident. Recently we (my girlfriend and I) even plotted out a possible career path in counseling. Getting a masters degree in counseling seems like an intuitive thing to do (I talk a lot, am a reasonably good listener, love psychology even more than I love writing, and love even more helping people), but it'll take many years, and will be a goal that will have to be worked on piecemeal, part of which includes overcoming my social anxiety disorder.
Writing has always been my crutch; most
specifically my dream of being a published, paid author. My dream of
writing for a living and my desire and need to let go of my anxieties
and live a well-balanced, fruitful life are mutually
exclusive. If you were to ask my mother or my girlfriend what
they would rather have me do, be a reclusive, malfunctioning writer
or be a well-rounded and sociable human being, I think they'd both
pick the latter—and so would I, because I know that I will not lose
my ability to write by taking more risks with my life.
I want to be a published writer
because I don't want to go out and get a job, go to college, or otherwise interact with large groups of people (which is ironic, because to succeed in writing one must be able to socialize). Yet I've been
doing a lot of spiritual cultivation lately, finding my true self and
all that jazz. I've realized something important. There's a
difference between writing and writing. Writing is a physical
act of putting ideas down on paper, and in that, is a perfect
exercise of what a Zen monk would call “Drawing water and carrying
wood.”
But writing is totally
different. It is a matter of wanting, of craving, of possessing,
identifying, and reaching for something wholly intangible, abstract,
and unreal. “Success.” This wanting to be
somebody.
Having a job, working, especially if it's
something completely menial, would be perfect for me because it's just
practice—drawing water and carrying wood.
And so as I reach out to the world
around me, join in it, however painful this is (and it's been quite
painful), I must let go of the intangibles I've cultivated
toward writing. Now when I write, as I'm doing here, I will
treat it as practice. I will write for writing, and not for anything
else. I will publish for publishing, and not for anything else.
I don't care where it takes me, if it
takes me anywhere. I have a goal, but I'm not attached to the
outcome. The goal is to make the words, focusing always on making the
words (as well as editing and publishing the words, but in their own
time and place).
Hopefully I will not put down my dream
of being a published writer only to pick up another crutch. I must
guard against that. But also, I'm in no way denying success. I'm not
sitting here saying “I don't want it.” I don't not want it,
either. If I wake up tomorrow with a million dollars in my pocket
because of something I wrote, I'll put it to good use!
:)
Posts
I've had to come to a similar realization myself. I'd go nuts without a regular job. I'm no longer going to count on my writing taking off and making me enough to quit my day job.
ReplyDeleteHonestly the realization happened when I signed up for Etsy and found that my stuff didn't sell like magic. Stripped away the rose colored glasses. Now days I write because I want to write, but because I feel like I have to write because someday I'm going to be freelance. :D
That can be a big thing when our stuff doesn't sell the way we expect it would or should. I didn't have any expectations, but was pleasantly surprised to see so many people willing to support me, even if it was a few dollars. It was a shot in the arm for my confidence, but definitely not something that would suggest that I should stick with writing in the sense that it's all that I do.
DeleteWriting because I want to, because it's fun, beats all :D
I'm really proud of you. It takes a huge amount of bravery to really push and understand yourself, your path and where you're going. You have my complete support bro.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Shen!
DeleteSounds like a brave and bold undertaking sir! I wish you every success.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Charles!
Delete