I just wrote to a friend of mine, who’d e-mailed me this week, wondering aloud at why she was spending so much time on the couch, not working on her “stuff”. The previous blog post was my answer to her, but today while sitting on my bed doing my novel homework, something else came to mind. So I wrote her the following, though it’s really aimed at me.
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A second thought occurred to me, about the question of “Why am I not doing my work?” It could be a matter of judgment.
I’m reading a book my editor recommended to me called Soul without Shame. It sounds very squooshy, but it makes some excellent points. This afternoon while reading this and some other material as background work for my book, I felt the overwhelming urge to have a nap. I just had to. So I gave myself twenty minutes to have a nap. Even on waking up, though, I was dogged by this sucking away of energy.
I’m scared to start a new book because part of me judges the whole effort and says “Why bother? None of your other books did much for you, and barely anyone noticed that you wrote them. Most editors didn’t like them, so maybe they’re just crap.” At a doctor’s office a few weeks ago, the attendant saw my occupation on the form and started asking me the usual questions — “Are you published? Would I have heard of you? Have you sold many copies?” etc, and it reawakened this sense of futility, and I’m still trying to shake it. (I hate that people like this with nothing to do with publishing ask these industry questions, which are roughly equivalent to my asking her what she makes in a year and whether she thought that was enough.)
I don’t actually feel that what these doubts say is true, or are the basis on which to judge the activity, but some part of myself worries that it’s true. Were in not for my own bloody-minded determination, this could scuttle the whole project. Or maybe it isn’t determination, but the fear of looking even worse to myself if I didn’t do what I said I could do.
I look at what you’ve done, and I can see how you might feel the same about your work: you’re not rich, you’re not famous, you still have to work hard to get any momentum or results. But to judge the worth or the meaning of your work by these standards would be to get it completely wrong. Your show was one of the best, most authentic and relevant pieces of theatre I’ve ever seen. When you sing with your group, the performance is powerful, good, and just plain fun. I know that what you do is developing your soul; I’ve witnessed that. You’re coming into your power more and more. You can’t stop. I can’t stop. We just can’t.
I’m not sure how to address the judgment or what to do about it. I’m looking forward getting ideas from this book. Also, my huge pile’o’books is dwindling, and soon it’ll be time for me to sit down and ask myself lots of questions. Many of them will be aimed at ironing out a story, but many will be for getting myself out of this pointless, undermining thinking that devalues the thing that’s most important to me in life, which is developing what I call a “culture of one“.
The antidote, I know from experience, is to reconnect with the work and what it’s like when it’s most fun, when you’re really in it. This other thing, thinking it should save you or justify you, just doesn’t have any joy in it. And people are moved by joy.
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