Everybody wants to be famous. Everyone wants to do something epic. But maybe fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, I have good reason to believe that it’s not.
An archived post of mine recently caught some traction and went viral the other weekend. It’s causing me to rethink why I do what I do and the pointlessness of chasing an audience.
Art helps us make sense of suffering — not by spouting off cliches or offering trite platitudes, but by speaking to that inner voice inside each of us that says, “Yes, this sucks, but there is still beauty.”
Sometimes, life doesn’t make sense. Sometimes, there is just pain. And that is when art serves us best.
The people who built the Statue of Liberty gave the world a gift. Everyone who comes to New York benefits from it. As do those who see the memorable icon in a movie or on a key chain.
There are few symbols in the world as powerful as that green lady. When people look at her, they don’t see oxidized copper and a museum.
They see freedom.
They see beginning.
They see new life.
I know a lot of people who like to write. They blog, email, maybe even journal.
And that’s good.
It’s important to have communication skills in this age. It’s good to be able to write and express your thoughts. Especially in a culture with such unrestricted access to so many other people.
But if you want to be a writer, that’s not enough.
The other day, I was writing an email to a major influencer.
I was asking him for something pretty important that would help me as a writer.
But I was a little nervous, so I did what many people did. Or rather, I almost did.
I caught myself at the end of the email starting to write the following: “You don’t have to do this…”
Wait, what was I doing?