Focus on the Journey

I committed the cardinal sin of writing today:

I let myself consider the destination instead of focusing on the journey.

As is tradition when I make this mistake, my mindset immediately sank into the bubbling tar of doubts which is always lurking.

Why am I doing this?  Who cares about my writing or the stories I tell?  Would anyone even notice if I quit?  What am I contributing to the greater fabric of our culture with my stories that someone hasn’t already done better?  Why do I work so hard at something which gives me so little which is noticed by so few?

Unsurprisingly, these doubts brought my day to a screeching halt.  My wife, praise all the saints and martyrs, did her best to work around me as I brooded in my chair.  I seethed in the secret way of authors, making the air around me thick with my ill-humor.  In the end, I was forced to peel the funk off with alternating applications of a hot tub and a lap pool.

Writing is not like other professions: there is never a point where you have ‘made it’.  Never, not once, at any stage of your career, is your victory assured.   I could spend my entire life writing and never receive an ounce of recognition for it until long after I am dead and gone.  I could hit the New York Times best-seller list tomorrow and write for another thirty years without seeing it again.  I may be a cultural phenomenon without once finding myself looking over the podium after accepting a major award.  There are no guarantees in this business, and when you become so focused on the things you have no control over, it’s going to cause problems.  Today was a blistering reminder of that fact.

Writing is about the journey.  Writing is about finding a place where you are at peace with yourself and what you create.  An author is someone who is not driven bonkers by the process of edits, feedback, and endless polishing of a first draft.  When you’re in tune with your journey, you find strength in the quiet moments of victory as your plot comes together at last, or the emotional high you get when a character is reunited with the love of their life and you whoop out loud.  Or, when the bad guy gets it at last, you write their downfall with triumphant vindication about his or her defeat, reveling in the victory of your hero as if it were you own.

I forgot how to focus on my journey today.  I got so lost in the lack of things, so consumed by what is possessed by others, that the weight of all my jealousies nearly broke me.  The stories I tell have value, even if only a few people read them.  What I write matters, even if it never gains me fame or fortune.  Maybe my wall will forever be empty of awards with my name upon them, but that’s not what really matters.

What matters is the joy we find and the friends we make as we wander from sentence to sentence together.  The thrilling rush of exploring a new world with eyes wide open to find out what awaits us around the next corner.  Sometimes we explore our own world, sharing our experiences with our hearts on our sleeves.

So here I sit, renewed in purpose, focused on the task of writing without the burdens of expectation, exactly as it should be done.

Journeyfully,

The Unsheathed Quill