Finding Joy in the Journey
I’ve always been a goal setter. Land the job. Run the marathon. Raise the funds. Write the blogs. Publish the books.
Having big goals has always felt like a core part of who I am. I’m a dreamer. A reacher. An achiever. Finish lines are like checkmarks on my to do list. Nothing feels better than ticking that box and moving onto the next.
But recently, more than ever before, I’ve been revisiting this mindset.
Writing is something that is well within my control. Write the book… check! But publishing, at least traditionally, is not. The pen for ticking the “get published” check mark is not in my hand.
Every bone in my body wants to fight against this.
I’ll easily spend hours researching agents and editors, or focusing on perfecting my pitches instead of my stories. And yes, being able to sell your work is a very important part of the process, so this is not time wasted.
But, I’m realizing all of this scattered focus is causing me to lose sight of my why.
Instead of writing the stories I want to write, I’m writing the stories I think might get me an agent.
Instead of exploring and playing with art, I’m boxing myself into creating work that I think would be easier to publish.
And even here… I spent several hours writing a blog that I thought might get a big reach (which is exactly NOT my goal here).
This isn’t time lost, it’s all helping me to become a better writer and artist. But stepping back forced me to rethink my list:
Write words that soothe my soul - not to check a box but to fill my heart.
Make art that comes organically - not to check a box but to unleash my creativity.
Enjoy the process of becoming a storyteller - not to check a box but to make a lasting impact.
Play.
Experiment.
Follow my heart.
Someday when I’m at a school visit I want to be able to tell those kids that I wrote the stories my heart wanted to tell. That being a writer is fun, and unpredictable, and full of joy.
In the same vein, I stepped away from digital art this week. My daughter has this color chemistry kit which has her mix her own inks. Her style of painting is to make a few swoopy marks and move right along to the next paper, which leaves me with piles of pages in really interesting colors that have only a few streaks of paint.
I took one of her paintings and squinted at it for a while until I saw something… A dancer! And after I saw one I then saw another, until there were seven dancers. And then I looked harder and saw the warped floor beneath them.
I’m happy with how it turned out, but I’m more happy with the process. It felt experimental, freeing, and fun.
I am sure the pressure to tick a box will creep back at some point, but until then I’ll do my best to write from my heart (and search for swoopy dancers).