On Writing More
I don’t write nearly enough or publish with any regularity. This enough is at least relative to my love of writing and desire to share my thoughts, opinions and ideas.
I’m aware that the one idea or goal that pops up often for me is one where I’m writing and publishing another book. A world where I have an audience that enjoys my writing and engages with me about those topics. This is my idea of relevance; of me mattering in this world.
I fear however that this is also exactly where I trip myself up. As soon as this becomes the end-goal, I’m immediately overwhelmed with trepidation about the high standard that I need to reach to get there.
And then the self-doubt and -questioning shifts into a higher gear too.
What if I write something and nobody reads it? Worse yet, what if everybody reads my words, but hates it? Who am I if I don’t matter? (The last question is a gross over-exaggeration of the existential crisis that I have seemingly created for myself.)
In “Ego is the Enemy”, Ryan Holiday writes “Ego kills what we love.” This resonates wildly; whenever I put these thoughts out of my mind, I write. I might even say that on many of these occasions I write words of which I’m proud, and that makes me feel good.
The goal is merely to write; I do that successfully. It’s easier. It’s without conditions or an end-goal. It is just words on a screen.
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