I say I want it but I don’t know how bad I want it. This line sounds like I’m debating whether I’d like to sleep with someone or not, but I am using it to sum up my desire to be “a writer”. I call myself a writer even though I am not paid to write. I write every day because I love it. I am writing this blog post to help make sense of my thoughts and feelings around this. Being a published author with a book in hand has always been a big goal and I am determined to get there eventually, slowly but surely, though it’s not my only goal anymore.

The more effort you put into something, the more vulnerable you are as there is a greater risk it will hurt you. This is scary with life and love and with your writing, but I know that to experience real love and joy in life we have to open ourselves up to the possibility of real hurt and pain. The thing is I’ve been hurt a lot in the last few years and I believe the literary world is something that has kept me sane through it all. I’ve lost a brother and a friend. By lost I mean they are gone from this world and I don’t expect to see them again, at least not in this lifetime. I’ve also lost partners and other friends along the way who are gone from my life but still living theirs. I’ve left jobs and moved cities. I’ve had days where I felt I couldn’t get out of bed. Didn’t want to get out of bed. I have given up working the 9-5 grind for living on a low bank balance picking up jobs here and there while embracing the freedom to go at it alone and “make something of myself”, though it sometimes feels I’ve neglected myself in the pursuit of this.

What kept me going through all of these major life changes and loss? Creating. Writing. Podcasting. Podcasts. Books. Blogging. Therapy. Sharing on social media. Writing and creating is something within my own control, that nobody can take away from me. Writing is something stable and reliable that can’t disappear from my life overnight. It’s become a bit of a coping mechanism. You see, people pissed me off for a while there. And I was pissed off at myself for being pissed off at people because it wasn’t necessarily their fault I was in pain. And afterall, it was people who created the art that I was consuming, the art that was so healing. People who read the words I wrote and listened to the podcasts I recorded. People who I loved so much that it ached when they left. So they aren’t so bad. And I’m learning that we all need people in our lives. We need to share our similarities and differences; creating a kaleidoscope with all of our peculiatities and pain rather than hiding them and burying them. We can’t do this life alone no matter how hard we try.

Hope keeps us marching on through tough times: “We beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” The Great Gatsby was always a favorite of mine. And I believe it’s because I loved this idea of chasing the green light for better days and a better version of reality. But we all know how that ended for Gatsby. And does having hope involve chasing or is it more about trusting? I feel my green light has always been art: making it, consuming it, getting lost in it, learning to craft it, and craving to make a living from this love of it. Literature, movies, words, podcasts, music. They have all given me hope and comfort and some company when stuck in the depths of grief. When I felt alone and unsure and directionless, they became my compass. Like a warm hand resting on my shoulder telling me to “keep on going”.

I have a tendency to get carried away with creative projects. Completely lost in them and giving everything I have to them without noticing the hours tick by, forgetting about my phone and the rest of the world for a while. Just me and the keyboard and the pursuit of creating something bigger. I also have a tendency to do this with partners, drop everything to see them and intrigued to learn everything about them and spend all my time with them. People call this passion, but I wonder is it more like obsession (I bet you can guess my attachment style). There was once a time I was spamming literary agents’ inboxes with dozens of emails, entering every competition I could find & writing a range of content daily without fail. Caught up in the pursuit of a green light. It’s not that I’ve lost hope or the love of it, but I no longer feel like giving all of myself and my time and energy to this. It’s like chipping away at my soul hoping that someone will see me, my work, my worth. Maybe it’s because I’m scared, maybe it’s because I don’t want to be hurt, maybe it’s because I’m tired of chasing, maybe I no longer feel the need for validation or maybe I still desperately need it but I’ve gotten used to rejection, or maybe it’s because I need to pause and refuel before I go back at it again. Whatever it is, I’ve had to take time out to separate who I am as a person from what I create.

I was listening to a podcast about entrepreneur’s recently, and they belived most of these self-driven successful individuals feel they are lacking something within themselves and using work to prove themselves. One of my close friends has messaged me every day since my brother died asking “how are you”. It took me months to notice that a big measure of a ‘good day’ and ‘bad day’ for me was based on how much writing I’d done. How much I’d created. If work opportunities popped up, if a piece of writing resonated with someone, if a podcast guest would agree to come on the show, if the podcast went well, if someone told me something I shared helped them somehow, if I ticked everything off the list. My measure of self-worth was based on the work and people telling me the work was worthwhile. I now know it’s equally important to reach out to the people around you rather than just running towards a goal ahead of you or getting lost in the screen in front of you.

There’s been liberation and a sense of freedom in blogging, sharing on social media, and podcasting. I’m sure a part of this is the instant gratification. Feeling more of an immediate impact rather than simply waiting months for an email reply. I’m sure a big part of this was the sense of urgency after my brother died at 28. Feeling the clock was ticking and I needed to put myself out there, express myself more. I’m sure a big part of this was coping with extreme pain. Sharing it so I could feel less alone with it. Taking back control of situations that were completely out of my control. I don’t know if sharing freely online is the ‘right way’ and I’m sure a lot of writers might advise against it but it’s helped me maintain the love of it and the love of life without getting too hopeless about it. And at the moment, that feels important. I know you can’t win the lotto if you don’t buy a ticket, so I will still enter writing competitions and email journals and publishers. But I won’t rely on all of this for a sense of happiness. And we know from research studies that winning the lotto doesn’t increase your state of happiness.

I love swimming in the ocean. I love walking through forests with tall trees. I love spending time with close friends and family. I love laughing, especailly when you aren’t supposed to. I love interesting open-ended conversations delving into the depths of the unknown. I love dancing and blasting music. Trying new things and visiting new places. I love the feeling of a cat purring next to you or a dog wagging it’s tail excited to see you. I love the moment where what you are explaining to a child finally clicks with them. I love reading a book while sipping a Latte. I love creating messily and freely. I love a lot of things and I have felt more grounded in my present reality by honoring this love of lots of things rather than obsessing over one thing. I am trying to have more of a healthy balance between all these bits and I don’t believe I have perfected this, but I’ve felt happier and calmer not solely depending on the green light to keep me going. Some might say you need to give your all to it. Stay motivated. You need to keep pushing and going. But I’m preferring doing a little bit at a time, not losing myself as I move towards it. It’s been lovely keeping parts of myself for myself. I’m preferring prioritising feeling at ease and at peace over feeling obsessed with wanting and desiring. It’s easy to get completely caught up in creating and pushing and forcing and fixing and bettering and sharing. I’m choosing more self-kindness instead. Don’t be fooled to believe this is all as easy and magical as it sounds. I still have a lot of self-doubt. It’s taken me a lot of therapy, a lot of talking and writing to even realise all of this nevermind share it, nevermind actively practise some self-kindness.

I say I want it, but I don’t know how bad I want it because I want a lot of other things too. Maybe wanting it ‘bad’ could be a bad thing. And who knows, people say when you let go of pushing things to be the way you’d like them to, things will work out the way that they are actually meant to. Then again, what do people know?