Instead of Trying to ‘Make It’ As a Writer, Escape Competition Through Authenticity
People forget: unlike swimming, writing is art, not sport.
I was a very competitive child. At 8, I remember riding in the back seat of my dad’s car, after a swimming competition, where I scored third. I was crying. My mom was just on a call with the coach. My team-mate — who, as I assumed, was also a friend — scored first.
“He got a gold medal and broke the record for kids his age,” mom said, handing me a McDonald’s bag with my favorite pack: large fries, six McNuggets, and a BBQ sauce. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it next time.”
My mom seemed to be more proud of him than me. I also no longer had a friend.
I remember how hard I trained. Looking back, it seems almost brutal.
I would wake up at 5 AM — every day — afraid to miss the train to get to practice before school. My parents were still sleeping in the living room, which was also their bedroom, and I had to wake them up.
“Wake up, wake up!” I would say, jumping around their “bed,” which was just a sheet on the floor. (My dad read books on Japanese culture at that time and believed that sleeping on the floor, no bed, no mattress, was good for you.)
