I’m writing this post on a pad of notebook paper. I haven’t done that in a long time, but there’s a reason for it. Recently I was waxing eloquently on my WordPress dashboard. I was in the zone and it was pure genius. The poetry of prose flowed and my mind glowed. And then, in an instant (you of course guessed it), it was gone. I hadn’t saved a draft periodically. An amateur mistake. And I know you know the feeling; like a deflated balloon.
I’m always a little emptied after I write. Those of you who are writers know what I’m talking about. Writing is my craft. It is personal, intimate and contains a part of my soul, whether I’m writing copy for an ad brochure, a script for a video, a technical tutorial or my reflections about life, the universe and everything. Writing, for me, is an exercise in integrity in the true sense of the word. I can’t write and not leave a piece of myself in digital ink.
Do you go back and read your stuff over and over? I do. Some of you may just walk away, as though you birthed something and can’t revisit the pain of creation. Others obsess over what they’ve written. At the core, I believe that the motivation behind either extreme is is rooted in the same emotional experience. It is self expression and we either love it or loathe it. Whether it’s objectively good or not rarely enters the equation.
That’s why when I’ve invested in a piece of writing and it vanishes into cyber-space, the feeling of deflation is amplified exponentially. Not that I can’t write it again, of course, or that it was so bad that it probably needed to be deleted, but it’s the force of gravity applied to a sense of futility. And isn’t life full of that? Haven’t we all experienced it?
For me it’s that piece of my soul I typed on my keyboard. Maybe for you it’s an entrepreneurial project, a new business or a work of art. Maybe it’s big time, a failed marriage or a loss of a job, a child, a relationship.
It is a certainty of life that we will feel the pain of failure and futility. “All is vanity and striving after the wind,” says Solomon. And it is our lot to experience that and deal with it in our own way. As for me, I’ve tried it all. The façade of unfounded optimism that masks hurt and disappointment and in reality is nothing more than a charade that everyone else sees through. Or I just withdraw for a while as though cutting off relationships will somehow help matters. Has that ever worked for you? Me neither. Escape is another option of course, but I’ve found that there’s often a high price tag for it. Not that I haven’t been willing to pay it at times. And then regretted it.
There are, of course, beneficial ways to handle the disappointments in life, large and small, and occasionally I’ve approximated them. But that’s few and far between. Prayer, reflections, channelling my own frustration into doing something to help someone else are a balm and a comfort. Why are they generally the last options?
It has occurred to me that much of what I do, in writing and in life, is focused on me. It has been said that writing is by nature a selfish activity. I may cleverly disguise it so that it appears to be all about you, but don’t be fooled. And can I help others while focusing on me? I do believe that’s possible. We see it all the time. Doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs, writers.
And so my point is this. In our journeys toward self fulfillment and actualization, whatever form that takes, the sting of our losses is largely a matter of perspective. We see the dance as our show and forget the God who dances with us. And like a child we think our dance is an end in and of itself, and don’t realize that we’re part of a show in which we participate, but which isn’t about us. From a lens outside ourselves, our failures and disappointments, struggles and successes, are really the soil in which we’ve been planted.
We spend an amazing amount of time, money, mental energy and relational capital on avoiding any form of discomfort. And while I’m certainly not suggesting that we seek out failure and disappointment, I do suggest that we consider embracing those struggles for what they really are.
Your view of the world is a critically important part of that equation. I don’t believe life is a zero-sum game. You’ve heard that before, I’m sure. If it is, then you better not fail. In fact, you should lie, cheat and steal to make sure you don’t, because that’s all there is. I haven’t found many people who actually believe that, although I’ve found quite a few who live like that at a pragmatic level.
Our lives are a journey, and while success is nice to experience along the way, it is really just like failure and struggle in one sense. It is the soil in which we are planted. If you’re going to focus on something in life, let that be the fruit you bear in the midst of either.