Letter: To the Preemptive Quitter

I recently read You Are A Writer (so start ACTING like one) by Jeff Goins. Twice. I cried (also twice).

You see, he was talking about me.

He doesn’t know me, obviously — although, Jeff, if you are still looking for lost creatives, I’m here — but he was talking about me. He was talking about my life as a person who has found themselves “succeeding at the wrong things — and despairing as a result.”

That sentence just about broke my heart as I was curled up on the brand new couch I bought with my well-earned money. Money earned from a day job where I’ve excelled for a decade but have not quite managed to find true fulfillment. Not to say I don’t enjoy my nine-to-five. There are parts of it I’d say I love, even. But a life of creativity has been knocking at the door of my soul for some time now and I’m running out of excuses not to answer.

It’s so easy to get distracted by complacency. It’s so easy to fall into things and stay there because of the million little reasons I tell myself. For me, these reasons go something like: I graduated college during the 2008 recession, I took the only job I was offered — a paid internship working with teens in an addictions program — and I was good at it. After that summer, I took a job in special education, and I was good at that, too. So, I went back to school to earn my Master’s in Education because that path felt attainable. I found another job in the field. I learned. I moved up. And I continue to be good at it today.

Believe me, there are moments I am completely immersed in my profession. There are educatory, counselory parts of me who cannot imagine a life where I’m not working with kids in some way. And there are also moments on my homebound commute when I wonder how I veered so far astray from the English-major-Theater-minor part of me and her liberal artsy dreams.

It’s taken time for me to understand being good at something doesn’t mean you are meant to do that thing always…or perhaps a better qualifier here is “only."

There were years when I almost stopped creating entirely. I was too tired. Too busy. Too caught up. I told myself my creations weren’t that good anyways and my words always fell short. I’m average, not exceptional, so why try? I reasoned that no one else in my circle seems to understand or care all that much about creative endeavors, so why should I? This line of thinking satiated (read: adequately dampened) my deeper creative desires for a time.

I mean, money pays the bills and the bills need to be paid, right?

Also, creating is hard. Think about it. Every single creator who exists is betting on themselves while the world watches. It’s doesn’t matter if your follower count is 10 or 10K, your world is watching. And in a world where judgmentalism appears to be the only philosophy our society can agree upon, I often succumb to a cycle of convincing myself to quit before I’ve even begun.

Not this time. Despite my deep-seated fears and tendency toward the preemptive hard stop, I have this “must” inside of me. This “must” has surfaced here and there throughout the years, like the glimmer of something valuable below the surface of deep waters, only catching the light when the sun shines just so. I cannot ignore it any longer.

So, like Jeff Goins told me to (I’m a good student), I’m claiming my identity as a writer for all to see while I write my own words and edit words that belong to others. Here. In this corner of the webosphere. Beginning on my 35th birthday.

And my dear fellow human, perhaps you, too, are struggling in your journey to personal freedom. Perhaps you, too, tend to get in your own way. Perhaps you, too, find you are trapped in a cage of your own construction.

I suspect we are probably not so different, you and I. We are all the sum of infinite, complex, and beautiful pieces. And sometimes our pieces need mending. If you are a little like me, you may crave words of emotional support, encouragement, analysis, and understanding as you blip through your time on this planet. And if you’re a little like me, you might know what to say to fulfill this for others, but have difficulty doing the same for yourself. So, this is where I will practice stringing together the words all the different parts of me need to hear, and maybe there are parts of you who need to hear these words, too.

These letters are for us.

Letter No. 1: To the part of me who quits before I’ve begun

My dear,

Hello. It has not been quite as long as I’d hoped it would be since the last time we connected. If you remember, we decided to take a break when I was really vibing with The Part of Me Who Can Envision My Full Potential. I know you think she’s full of herself, but I think she’s a badass. Anyways, I just thought you’d stay away for a bit longer. I’m still trying to understand why I can’t quite shake you…but I guess that’s the point of self-acceptance, huh?

Either way, we need to talk. I understand now that you come around when you need love and understanding. But to be honest, I find you to be one of the more challenging parts of me to manage; you’re always sneaking into my life just when I forget about you. It’s hard for me not to just push you down deep, but you always loom larger there, so here goes a new approach.

I know you’re scared. I know the laundry list of potential negatives you associate with sharing anything with the universe sits like a crystal ball made of concrete in the pit of your stomach. I know you’re envisioning what will happen if my creative ventures are met with criticism and judgment. And I know you are probably the most afraid of being met with nothingness. You are terrified you have been right all along, and nothing I can offer my corner of the universe will resonate, help, or heal. That for all my trying I will, as you sometimes suspect, never be considered worthy enough to be considered “value added.”

It’s a legitimate fear for no other reason than the way it plagues you so. It plagues me, too, you know.

However, I’ve been working really hard for years now (thank you, Therapy), and I do have questions. Ready?

What is the absolute worst thing that might happen if my words resonate with no one? Be honest. You know the answer: Essentially, my life will stay the same — other than the fact that I am finally creating, which is an improvement. And all in all, this life is not so bad.

Another: What if there is even just one person in the world who needs my words and I never, ever write them? It might be dramatic of me, but this feels like the more tragic option.

As for the potential judgment you fear with every fiber of your being…are judgmental people the ones we are even trying to reach? Nope. Fuck ‘em.

That’s all. I don’t really know what else to tell you—I don’t think there’s much else for us to say to one another.

Well, one more thing.

I hope you find peace today, my complicated, difficult love. And I hope we can take a longer break this time. Please?

Happy birthday to us.

Yours in compassion,