How can I create art I’d be willing to die for?

Ask an elite athlete this: would you take a drug that would kill you in five years in exchange for an Olympic gold medal? There’s a 50 percent chance that athlete would say yes. 50 percent. Dubbed the Goldman Dilemma, it’s a unsettling fact.

It unsettles me for a lot of reasons. Here’s one: I respect the people who said yes.

I respect them because we’re wired to preserve ourselves. Any soul willing to lay down his life in pursuit of anything — even if it’s a game or sporting event — is a soul living for something greater than himself. And I believe that’s why we’re alive.

We’re not here to overeat and over-drink. We’re not here watch Netflix 30 hours a week or spend all of our money on clothes and car payments.

We’re here to work on something greater than ourselves. We’re here to find our own Goldman Dilemmas. What are you doing with your life that’s so important you’d be willing to die for it?

I ask myself that a lot. I ask myself how can I apply the Goldman Dilemma to my writing. How can I create art I’d be willing to die for?

The answer’s a lot easier than it seems. The answer is this: remind myself I could die tonight. Or tomorrow. And know in my bones I could be right.

Because I could.

You could, too.

Don’t take that lightly. Whatever you’re creating right now could be the last thing you ever create. That means it’d better be the most important thing you’ve ever worked on. If it’s not, crumple up that paper. Burn it. Send it skyward in smoke and dust.

Start the work that matters. I don’t have to tell you what it is. You already know.