Image by Artturi Mäntysaari from Pixabay
A
few months ago, I had an “aha!” moment. I’d been feeling
terribly stressed due to increased demands at my job and my author
commitments, plus some impending travel that was going to make it
even the more difficult to fulfill my obligations. I was obsessing
about everything, when it hit me: even though I have way too much to
do, I enjoy almost all of the tasks on my long list —writing,
teaching, research, making covers, reading, writing reviews, creating
blog posts, entertaining friends, sending birthday cards, cooking,
even exercising. When I asked myself what I’d give up, if I had to
make a choice, I really didn’t have a good answer.
That
realization flipped my thinking and drained some of the stress.
First, I felt a surge of gratitude that my life is so full of
meaningful activity and so rich in joy. Second, I understood that joy
is a reliable signal as to whether you’re on the right path.
If
it’s not fun, you’re doing it wrong.
Am
I talking about sex? Yes. Writing? Yes. Keeping fit? That too.
The
Calvinistic/Puritan tradition views life as bitter and hard, an
exercise in self-denial, a continuous series of trials one must
endure in order to reach the promise of Paradise in the hereafter. I
just don’t buy that. It doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t
match my personal experience.
For
me, life is something to celebrate, a continuous unfolding, a
twisting and often surprising path. And when I’m wondering which
branch to follow, I’ve learned to turn within first, to ask myself
how the path feels. Does it feel right? Does it generate joy?
I
remember when I got my first job in my second career. (I’ve had
several since.) I had no prior professional experience in this field,
just a couple of university courses. I got hired on the strength of
my academic credentials. When I started working, though, something
clicked. I really “got” the concepts. I found I had an aptitude
that I would not have expected. The job tapped into my creativity and
developed my interpersonal skills. It was definitely the right path
at that time.
When
I met my husband (at a technical conference), I tried to give him the
brush-off. We lived on different coasts and I didn’t want a
long-distance relationship. Besides, I was already juggling four
lovers. When he persisted, however, I discovered that being with him
felt inexplicably comfortable. We spent the first three weeks of our
life together driving across the US, a trip that could strain even a
well-established couple. We had a fantastic time—and despite the
newness of our relationship, the whole process turned out to be
incredibly easy and natural.
Thirty
nine years later, I understand: it was so much fun because we were
obviously doing it right.
Note
that joy is not exactly the same as happiness. It’s not about
pleasure or entertainment. Joy is something deeper, a spiritual
quality, a sense of satisfaction, order and symmetry. Sometimes it’s
a quiet, soothing warmth humming under your solar plexus. Sometimes
it’s laughter bubbling up out of nowhere, an urge to sing or to
dance. Joy can be wordless, or it can spill out in poetry or paint.
I
believe we are meant to feel joy and that when we do, we can trust
we’re being our best and truest selves.
The
fact that something kindles your joy doesn't mean it will be easy.
Climbing a mountain, running a marathon, getting a degree, raising a
child, or writing a book all take a huge amount of effort, but joy is
the ultimate reward. And of course every life has its pain and its
tragedies. But joy makes you more resilient.
Writing
can be tough, frustrating work. We all complain when the words don’t
flow or the characters don’t obey. We fight with incompetent
editors, flinch at poor reviews, feel discouraged when our royalties
don’t even begin to reach the level of minimum wage. In the face
of all these negatives, why do we—why do I—keep writing? Out of
love. Because of the joy.
Almost
nothing compares to the sense of delight when I am in the groove, the
words are flowing and the story is unfolding just as I’d imagined.
It’s worth every bit of aggravation and every ounce of effort.
At
least that’s how I feel. Your mileage may differ. But if you are
truly suffering for your art, why bother? If what you're doing
doesn't fundamentally satisfy you, give you that deep level feeling
of rightness, maybe you are doing the wrong thing.
Not
that I’m counseling my fellow authors to give up. Just stop and ask
yourself: is it fun? And if not, what can you change so that it will
be?
For another take on this same topic, check out excellent Nicole Tierra's article on trusting your intuition:
https://lifeclub.org/idea/intuition-trust-your-gut
I think she and I are saying the same thing, in slightly different ways.
