Creating for others: 5 things I learned & why my cocktail brand got a shakedown

The label “writer” can feel broad and vague.

My entire writing life, I have struggled between getting laser-focused, or allowing myself space to write about whatever felt right in the moment. When you become laser-focused, there is more ‘success’ that can come with it. (i.e. more Instagram followers, more working with brands, more opportunities for freelance work). That is what being a writer in the craft cocktail space brought me. But, becoming an “influencer” (anyone else hate that word as much as I do?) meant compromising the writer in me.

I’ve been writing about food and cocktails for about 10 years. It’s been wonderful, but it’s been stifling when I’ve felt the urge to branch out and tackle new subjects. No matter what topic you’re tackling as a writer and especially if you’re feeling tapped out on your subject matter, it can get tricky to make a shift. When people expect specific content from you, you’re on the hook to create it.

But here’s why I gave my cocktail brand a shake down and what I learned in the process.

1. A cocktail is only token of an experience between people

What has brought me the most happiness through my craft cocktail and spirits writing has been the people along the way.

My local community of bartenders and artisans are so inspiring. However, the online #drinkstagram community has also been a big player when it comes to ‘community’. I have made some of my best friends and learned so much from people who have taken time to share their craft with me. If I hadn’t focused on cocktails, I would never have met some of the most important people in my life.

Additionally, sitting at a bar and having a conversation with a bartender is one of my favorite things to do. I have learned so much about the industry and I love nerding out about amaro, bitters and gin. I will forever be grateful to any bartender who has allowed me to endlessly bother them with questions.

There are also the experiences that happen in my day-to-day life.

Creating a cocktail for my husband or a friend after a long day.
Making champagne cocktails for my sisters on Sunday afternoons.
Creating fun mocktails for my kiddo so she can feel fancy while mom sets up a photo shoot.
Teaching classes for friends or co-workers.
Having a quite moment at home and stirring up the perfect negroni.

All of these things are just a part of who I am. They are not a brand, they are just…me.

But focusing on cocktails as content made me realize that the cocktail was really only a conduit to connection between people, and that was a wonderful realization.

2. Comparison is the thief of joy

Yup, social media is a big game of well-designed content. One beautiful feed on Instagram isn’t something to fear — but thousands of people focused on creating the same type of content you are can feel like the weight of a million perfectly curated bar carts on your chest.

And, sometimes it ends up being an endless string of questions to yourself like:

“why are they getting that opportunity and I’m not?”
“what am I doing wrong that they are doing right?”
“how can I be more like ‘so and so’ in order to get whateverthefuckitistheyhave”?
“why are all those cocktail influencers at that event in my hometown, when I didn’t even know about it and have given SO MUCH time to cultivating my local community?”

That last one basically kills me dead.

Of course there are times when I look at what I’ve created — the photos, the audience, the articles, the recipes, the connections — and I feel proud.

But it is so much easier to feel like what you’re doing doesn’t matter. When you start personally detaching yourself from your content, or you aren’t getting joy out of it, everything starts wandering towards that deep dark hole of comparison and trying to keep up.

I was on the verge of falling in, and I didn’t want to.

3. Moving between worlds of inspiration and depletion is bad

I am an introvert. Not an “extroverted introvert” — but an actual, real life introvert. It is hard for me to get out there. To meet new people. To have conversations with people that I don’t know. But here is the thing — I would say that 80% of the time when I make myself do this, I am better for it and glad I did it. It is the memory of “I am so glad I went” that I have to muster every single time I had to go to an event.

But then, I’d go, and I would be inspired. I’d meet amazing people and eat delicious food and drink perfect cocktails. And I’d feel so happy I put myself out in the world — and then I’d write about it and sometimes it would all come full circle.

But, inevitably, I‘d desperately need solitude. I would have to replenish what I’d given and many times, I wouldn’t be able to — especially as a person who writes full-time for work and has a small daughter, partner, and other people who want time and attention. Moments alone are hard to come by, let alone the hours (or even the days) that I felt like I needed to start again.

My depletion to inspiration ratio was way out of balance. I needed to find inspiration that didn’t take so much out of me, or take me so far outside my normal life and routine, and that didn’t require intense solitude to recover from.

4. The art of saying no

When I first started food writing, I was hustling. I said ‘yes’ to everything — every event, every opportunity, every luncheon. And, it truly paid off (“paid” being a loose term here). I met amazing people, made great media contacts, was on live TV, and had my reviews of local restaurants posted everywhere. As craft cocktails started exploding in Salt Lake City, I found myself naturally gravitating towards that content, and in the end — it all just went that direction. I created a cocktail club, started working with large national brands, and doing a lot of freelance spirits writing.

But, I wasn’t really making any money from it or getting much back from the hours and stress I was putting in. I was trying so hard to make it happen, and in a way, it did happen for a while — at an expense that I wasn’t prepared for: creative flat-lining.

You can only try to get your name out there for so long, and have people take advantage of the work you do before you’re just wrecked (free cocktails and meals are not payment, but that is the currency it seems). I didn’t want to be a full-time freelance writer. I had a full-time job. But I wanted my effort and time to be compensated in a real way.

When you start feeling taken advantage of, you start saying no.

No, I don’t have time to write that article.
No, I don’t want to go to that event and be expected to write about it, photograph it, and post about it for a free meal.
No, I don’t want to promote your event for free.
No, I don’t want to spend my vacation going to cocktail events.
No, I don’t want to spend hours editing and writing and trying to create good work for 300 likes on Instagram.

I was so done with all of that. And for the past five years, that had essentially been what I was doing:

Drowning.

When I started paying attention to how I authentically felt by saying “no” I learned a lot. I was relieved. Less stressed. Less anxious. This told me that some of these things I was doing, I didn’t actually want to do — even if I would eventually have that feeling of “I am so glad I went” at the end. My gut instinct was to feel relief.

So I started following this line of thought: If my first instinct isn’t ‘hell yes’, then it is a no.

‘Hell yes’ is rare, and should be.

5. Focusing on writing what matters

I have always had this dream that I would write something great. Something profound and illuminating. The real truth is — I think I am capable of that. Even if I never write a NY Times best selling novel, book, memoir or collection of poetry — I think trying to would be profound for me and the people that love me most. Creating this ‘thing’ is important, and I needed to create space to make it a reality.

That is how I want to write. That is what will fill me with joy. I want to walk away from my computer and/or notepad with a sense of completeness. Wholeness.

Like, I put something out into the universe that mattered to me.

Writing the real real.

I hope that maybe someone else who is feeling like they are trying to be creative for others, at the expensive of their own joy, can resonate. It is amazing the confines you can get stuck in when you feel like people expect something specific from you. It can be a wonderful and exhilarating feeling to give them what they want — but it can also feel fake and strip you of the time you need to write what truly matters to you, even if no one on Instagram ever double taps.

I still take photos of cocktails. I still create cocktails. I still love to talk about the ritual and craft of it all. Because, it is a hobby I really love. But I no longer feel the pressure to create content for others, and I only say ‘yes’ to projects I really want and that I know I will find joy in. Most of these, I can do from the comfort of my own home and not sitting at someone else’s bar. It’s where I’d rather be. My actual writing is now focused on my own creativity, not the showcasing of others.

I have taken my writing back and re-committed to creating in a way that makes me feel intoxicated, even when no cocktail is involved.

(Yes, we all know that’s rare for me).