“Do something you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.”
I’d be willing to bet we’ve all heard some version of this adage at some point in time. Growing up, I clung to this wisdom like a life preserver, dreading the day I’d be forced to leave the public education system and join the “real world.”
Well, I’m officially a lifetime member of the real-world club, and I can say on no uncertain terms: What the fuck?
Listen, I appreciate the notion that we’re all inherently passionate about something, even if that particular skillset or hobby isn’t profitable. But I remain skeptical that simply uncovering one’s “calling” in the vast ocean of possible career paths is enough to feel liberated from the constraints of modern society. You can love your work but not the conditions under which you do it. There are many shades of grey and they all overlap.
I’ve been struggling to write this blog post for about a week. At first, I thought it was because I was busy with work, but that seems to be my go-to excuse for a lot of things I don’t want to confront. I tend to be a little conflict-averse, even with myself.
The truth is, I haven’t written anything since I finished Hearts Unbound. This is unusual for me: normally, I jump straight into the next project without too much preamble. I even had a couple of new ideas I was eager to delve into as soon as I got past uploading Hearts Unbound to Amazon and filming my proof unboxing video.
My scribblings didn’t lead me anywhere. The characters I was creating felt more like ghosts drifting between dimensions than friends I’d share my headspace with for the next several months. Then I tried another story—a rewrite of an old idea, meaning less heavy-lifting in the world building department—and the same thing happened. Words appeared on the page but the story didn’t solidify in my mind. Very annoying.
I think it’s time to be honest with myself: I’m not enjoying this anymore.
It’s hard for me to admit this. After all, I thought I’d finally found my calling. I’m supposed to be having fun, right?
It’s not fun, and it hasn’t been fun since about 2022, when I released Faith Unbroken. But I continued doing it because I have this peculiar belief that the longer I delay my gratification, the more profound my enjoyment will be. I keep waiting for the day when the universe will send me some immutable sign that all this artistic suffering was “worth it.” I knew I’d be playing the long game from the moment I began penning my first novel, but I never anticipated just how empty I’d feel when life didn’t adhere to my own personal timeline.
This morning, I caught myself thinking of an episode from How I Met Your Mother. I don’t recall every detail, but it involved a goat, a washcloth, and Ted, a struggling architect, resenting the universe for screwing up his elaborate vision for the future. His friend, Lily, presents him with this nugget of wisdom (I’m paraphrasing a little here):
Lily: “Architecture is killing you, and it’s killing us to see it killing you. You’re like the goat with the washcloth: the universe keeps taking it away and you keep grabbing it back. It’s just a washcloth. Why do you even want it?”
Ted: “Because I have to be an architect. That’s the plan.”
I understand where Ted was coming from. Somewhere out there, a goat has my writing dreams clutched in its maw. And because I’ve designed my life around this particular washcloth, letting it go feels like I’m betraying my younger self.
But my younger self knew nothing. My younger self was twelve years old and sheltered from the world’s ills by two parents and a middle-class upbringing. I had the privilege of indulging my whims because I wasn’t caught up in the survival grind, with a finite number of hours in the day and a never-ending list of tasks to prioritize. Instead of chastising her for not making better choices, I should be thanking her for sowing the seeds so I could spend the next twenty years watching them grow.
It’s not the writing itself I’ve become disenchanted with. It’s… everything else. The publishing industry. The pressure to be a “content creator.” The marketing. The personal branding. It’s excessive and pointless at times, and yet I’ve bought into the idea that if I just present myself a certain way and use the appropriate hashtags, I, too, can end up on a bestseller’s list.
Hearts Unbound will likely be the last book I publish for a while. If I do end up writing anything else, I won’t be promoting it anywhere. If you truly love something, you keep it out of the public eye. You protect it at all cost.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket. You can keep a few eggs for decorating and use the rest to feed your family. And who knows? You may even find you like eggs again when you don’t eat them for every meal.
