It’s Not Just Me
I read it.
I read the piece again.
And then again.
And I realized that I had not succeeded—not even remotely—in capturing in words the message I had been trying to deliver.
What I had been attempting to say was meaningful to me, apparently, but not to anyone else. Was it the topic? The graphics? The title?
Was it too trite? Too artificial? Too superficial? Too what? Hardly anyone bit, so it must have been too something.
Or perhaps instead of having too much, it was lacking something.
Instead of diving deep, I’d summarized. I’d skimmed the shimmer off the top and tried to share it. Instead of describing with sensory detail so my readers would feel what I had, I tried using catchy terms that were vague and overarching and basically pasteurized the emotion from my experience, rendering it bland and flavorless for the sake of a phrase.
It’s not about using catchy phrases. It’s about using words that invoke a response. I know that. I learned that a long time ago. But apparently, I—being the word nerd I am—need to relearn that lesson over and over.
Have you ever tried to express a profound emotion or experience and totally failed? Haven’t we all?
Seeking to fully encapsulate an experience, mood, thought, or emotion in some type of artistic expression in order to invoke a similar response in others is what creativity is all about, I think.
It’s what songwriters, and poets, and artists of every medium are striving to achieve. Sometimes we manage to find just the right mix of color or words or musical notes to convey what we’re trying to convey, and sometimes we don’t.
So then what?
About the time I start thinking I should scrap the piece and start over, I wonder why. Why bother? Why spend the time? Maybe the topic I’m trying to write about doesn’t really matter to anyone else. Maybe my writing doesn’t measure up. What makes me think that what I’m saying is important enough that other people would spend their time reading it? Why would anyone listen to me?
Self-doubt.
Imposter syndrome.
The “You’re-wasting-your-time-you-could-be-making-money” refrain that tends to increase in volume in moments like these.
But I’m a writer.
I sometimes feel that I don’t fully experience life until I reflect on it. It’s as though I have to pull it into myself, and ruminate on it for a while. Then, after blending it with everything else I’ve experienced, I synthesize it and spit it all back out. But it’s not the same when I send it out again, because now it has the added flavor of me mixed into it. Writing helps me process the experiences, thoughts, and emotions of my life.
I’ve already told you that one of my favorite quotes about why we write is by Anais Nin, who said, “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.” But there is more to the quote.
“We write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection….We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it.”
However, there’s even more to it than that. I often feel like I’m speaking not only for myself. Sometimes when I read what others have written, I think, “Exactly! That’s me! That’s just what I’ve been thinking!” And I’m flooded with relief that I’m not alone. The feeling is so cathartic, the connection so gratifying, that I keep trying to create it myself.
The thought that I might be able to offer that connection to someone else is what keeps me writing.
The first time I realized that I could voice what others are thinking happened in eighth grade. A group of us were not getting along (sound like 8th grade to you?) and were meeting with a counselor. One of my classmates tried to explain how she felt, and gave up in frustration when the counselor didn’t seem to get it. I thought I understood what she’d been trying to say, because I’d been feeling the same way. So I articulated it for her. She was so grateful that she shouted, “Yes! That’s it! That’s what I was trying to say!”
It changed our relationship. Because she knew that I understood her, and she understood me. And that made all the difference.
The urge to create, to express what I’m feeling or thinking in words is innate, for me. At the risk of failing, I’ll keep trying. And I’ll keep sharing. Because creating a connection is worth the risk.
It’s what I do. I’m a writer.
Are you? What do you like to write?
Or do you want to paint? Or create art with fiber, or metal? Or design something? Or learn to play a ukulele?
Do it. That urge you have is there for a reason. You’re not an imposter. The world needs you.
We need you.
Want to tell me about it? Go ahead. Use the comment box below. Or use the button to send a more private email. I’ll understand.
