Am I doing the right thing? (3/7)

In my last post, I outlined why it’s difficult to understand how well you’re doing at your chosen profession/career/hobby. I use writing as the example, because it’s the most confusing of my own habits, but it applies to most other work.

A big negative effect of social media is a near-complete dissolution of authority. Every opinion is seemingly equated, without the time or info to consider on what authority it is given. The information out there is in fact so inconsistent that I don’t believe anyone anymore.

Here are some typical things writers claim that are textbook examples of “work theatre” for writers:

“I worked on X for Y hours today.”

I don’t know how slow you are and I bet you rounded up.

“I wrote 5,000 words today!”

I got just five words for you, buddy: a a a a a.

“I’ve read X magazine/ Y author for years.”

Your mum bought you one of their books when you were ten and you read it last year.

“I’ve always written.”

What does that even mean?! Is your definition so loose as to include writing emails and birthday cards/ journaling/bad teenage poetry—in which case, everyone is a writer—or so narrow as to demand 3000 words out of yourself every day at penalty of disqualification from the title of “writer”? Unlikely.

“I always thought of myself as a storyteller.”

When I started studying medicine, my mum sent me a picture of me, four years old, playing with a plastic doctor’s kit. She was in awe at this early sign of my career proclivity. But I’m sure she had photos of me displaying early signs of wanting to be a civil engineer (marble run?!) videogame designer (game boy!) a butler (red plastic tea set from which I drank orange juice with raisins in it. It’s pretty good! I might have been onto something.) Romantic people like to carve traditionally compelling narratives out of their lives, and the lives of others, in retrospect. But at best it’s just one way of looking at life and at worst it’s a fantasy. (A year and a half later I quit medicine, tears, drinking etc.)

Maybe you did always know what you wanted to be. That’s wonderful. But I sure didn’t and continue not knowing. I won’t pretend otherwise nor feel like a lesser person for it.

If I was born to do anything, it was a handful of things and I’m living my best approximation of what those are. I sure as hell know what I was born not to do—that’s when my intuition kicks in. (And now that I have a decent self-esteem, I listen to it more often than not.)

At the heart of the need to offer these clichés are the central questions: what the hell am I, and am I any good at it?!

None of us know to such an extent that we’re comfortable—if we’re really thinking about it. Does that mean we get to stop worrying about it? Maybe “worry less.” I don’t know. I’m all for worrying less :)

In the next post, I’ll describe some dangerous fallacies that are a result of people defining themselves poorly.