I’m only writing this to waste time
So I’m in a coffee shop. Again. Staring at the screen when I promised myself I’d be doing some badass “marketing” today. Again. Counting down the minutes until I’ve worked an acceptable workday. Again.
I fucking hate writing.
It seriously feels like punishment. It’s like extracting a molar every time I try to put intelligent words on the page. My brain shuts off. I don’t even know if there’s thoughts in there to get out.
Oh, how I wish I could just yell, “Buy shit!” and it would all be over.
I’ve been a visual artist my whole life. In past businesses I had a partner that was the marketing heavyweight. No more.
I never expected marketing to be easy but I never imagined it would actually get harder.
Today, however, I realized something that put me at ease: it never gets easier.
This isn’t the first time. When I first started going to the gym it was the same way. It sucked. Every single freakin’ day it sucked. The months ticked by. I suck with it, because I was positive it would get easier and that I would start enjoying it. It never happened.
…until I changed my expectations.
The problem wasn’t the gym, that the workouts were hard, or any of that. The problem was I introduced a false expectation to my sub-conscious: that it would get easier.
Only when reality and the expectation don’t mesh, is when mental anguish ensues.
The second I was honest with myself the gym became awesome. Yes, it still sucks to go, but I walk in there every day knowing it will suck. But that’s a good thing. It causes a great welling-up of the warrior in me. I go in there ready for a fight and ready for pain, not unicorns and bunny rabbits.
I cause a scene, I sweat, I hurl. And I feel like a fucking champion.
What I learned today is that this god-forsaken writing business won’t get any easier either. And I’m okay with that.
If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to war now.
My newest crap lives over at write.as/wilt