On Writing, Ideas, and Making a Difference
A few years ago, I found myself at a personal impasse. Working for a nonprofit organization, my job was to help missionaries tell their stories. With a few colleagues, I launched an online magazine, and every week I was in charge of sharing accounts of how my peers were changing the world.
There was just one problem: I didn’t believe it.
We all face fears. Fear of flying. Fear of heights. And the worst of all: fear of failure. Fear has the uncanny ability to paralyze us. So what do we do when we feel its icy-cold hands of restraint? We do what we must: move.
For the longest time, I was afraid to be who I was. I was trying to live someone else’s dream. But one day a friend came along and told me the words I was longing to hear…
Most people spend their lives dreaming of meeting someone famous — a big shot actress or world-class, musician maybe. They long for a chance to connect with a big shot, someone of real talent.
But I had an amazing artist sitting right in front of me — and I didn’t even realize it.
There’s an old story of a man who finds some treasure hidden in a field. When he discovers it, he buries it again, sells everything he owns, and then buys that field.
That’s the story. But what does it mean?
For the longest time, I thought this tale was about finding fulfillment. But really, it’s not. It’s about returning to fulfillment.
Admit it: the world is a messed-up place. There is pain all around us. And there seems to be no end in sight.
It does not surprise me that we have grown numb. That we have turned a blind eye to the baby infected with HIV, to the lonely beggar on the street.
It does not amaze me that we would turn to self-medication and busyness to crowd out the discomfort of a world in pain. But that is the one thing we cannot do. We must avoid numbness at all costs.
Life is full of uncertainty. Risk is a part of every choice you make. The threat of failure looms around every corner.
If you’re not careful, these hazards can stop you. You can get stuck before you start, not knowing what to do.
So what do you do when this happens, when fear assails you? Do you stand still or start moving? Do you hedge your bets or go all in?
I received an email from a young writer the other week, asking the following question:
“I want to write a novel, but I can’t seem to focus. I carry around a notebook to capture ideas, but I struggle with sticking to one story for very long. Can you help?”
This is a typical battle amongst creatives. It is the major issue facing most writers and artists: focus. But the problem is it’s often based on one dangerous, false assumption. What is it?
Last night, I finished my first book manuscript. I ran spell-check, added citations, took a deep breathe, and hit “send.” I emailed my editor, ate a few Girl Scout cookies, and went to bed.
Today, I am back at it. Back to writing. Starting from scratch. And I love it. This is what the writing life is about — not publishing, but writing.
Not too long ago, I was traveling and came across a rude flight attendant. This woman was clearly tired and jaded about her job. She was curt with passengers, responding to drink requests with a quick reply: “Yes, I heard you the first time.” And more than once, I overheard her complaining to another attendant.
The experience left a mark on me. Nobody likes being around people who hate their jobs. We all need to learn to love what we do, or go work somewhere. I really don’t see an alternative.
Martin Luther King, Jr. left us a legacy. He taught us as much through what he did as through what he said. (Maybe more.)
One of the many lessons Dr. King exemplified was the effectiveness of a life lived out loud — one in which a person’s words are backed by considerable action.
He showed us that our lives must be lived intentionally and without regret, that our words mean something and we must speak up in the face of injustice.
