“I am not a “writer”… but I can write.”
A few days ago, I received an email from a woman who had read this piece about writing a book and been inspired. (You’re welcome, America.) The fact that she wrote that sentence, simultaneously promoting and denigrating her own talents really drove me insane intrigued me. As a coach, I meet so many people who tell me their most profound passions, then immediately outline for me all the reasons their passions are impossible. Um, okay, I guess. But here’s the thing: if you’ve decided that your dreams are unrealistic, then I guess they are. Of course your dreams are unrealistic; that’s why they are dreams, and not your life. Your job is to change that situation! Why else are you here, to seriously care about Kim Kardashian? *shifty eyes*
I was intrigued by this woman saying, “I’m not a writer, but I can write.” So…you are a writer. You just don’t know it. Because you’re spending more time looking for ways to avoid living your passion, than just living it. Like most people. If you want to be a writer, start writing. If you want to do something–stand back while I blow your mind–JUST. DO. IT.
Obviously, this doesn’t hold for brains surgeons, for example; one cannot just decide that he or she is a brain surgeon and get to work…but one can decide that he or she has a worthwhile dream to become a brain surgeon, and commit to the education and sacrifice that goes into realizing that dream, i.e. becoming a doctor. Isn’t that the point of life? You see what you want and you commit. That’s what distinguishes the people who perform brain surgery from all the people who just watch medical documentaries and think,” Hmmm, I was always interested, but whatever, no way I could have done it…” Well, I guess if you’ve already decided it won’t work…. (sighs.)
If you read the biographies, for example, of famous authors, say Hemingway or Vonnegut, or (my love) Anton Chekhov…they weren’t born famous. They made many mistakes, they wasted time, and then, one day, they finally decided, for a variety of reasons, to commit and become the writers they wished to be. Years passed. They kept writing. Things worked out. Vonnegut, for example, endured 800(!) rejection letters before finally getting published. Indeed, he was never published in the New Yorker, which hurt him till the day he died…but so what? How many lives does Vonnegut’s writing continue to change? Meanwhile, how many people are published in the New Yorker, who see their career go exactly nowhere?
Anton Chekhov was the grandson of a serf, and the son of an incompetent petty tyrant. He endured a miserable, lonely childhood, and only started writing little fluff pieces under a false name to have some fun. It wasn’t until he started getting published, and an editor/friend nagged him, that he became serious about his writing. In 1904, on his death bed, Chekhov was sure that within a few years no one would read him…even as today, 111 years after his death, his influence only grows. I guarantee you, that when Chekhov was a miserable, lonely, beaten child, he didn’t think that one day he’d be ANTON CHEKHOV, writer of short stories and plays that are currently translated into hundreds of languages, on t-shirts and mugs, and horribly interpreted by countless mediocre actors. (*sighs*)
So, what are you waiting for? Whose permission do you need to do what matters to you?
I can’t promise you that you’ll ever achieve anything on Chekhov’s level. Maybe you’ll go to med school and “just” become a doctor, and “just” save some lives. Maybe you’ll “just” write a couple of books that “just” make you happy. You might not win the Man Booker prize, but maybe someone will read your book in a coffee shop and momentarily escape the dismay of his life for the length of your book. If you don’t see what a triumph that would be, you’re missing the point very much.
No, not everyone will be Chekhov, but wouldn’t you rather be yourself?*
What if you “just” do what makes you happy, and lead a life that speaks to everything within your heart? What if you “just” did that? Not a writer, but you want to write? Great, here’s the secret, here’s what the people you admire did: commit.
“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are,”It might have been.”- Kurt Vonnegut
Enjoy!
*When did I become Dale Carnegie, for f**k’s sake.