Ego Has a Voracious Appetite
Posted by Moose on October 18th, 2007. Filed under: My Brain Needs a Drink.I used to dance. I will again, preferably after I shed all this nesting weight that has lowered my center of gravity to right around my ass, but for now I’m abstaining. Dance classes tend to involve corrections, loud corrections, corrections that sometimes get repeated because you didn’t correct it properly the first time. Dance is more subtle than, say, basketball. Your basketball coach probably doesn’t lose sleep over your form, so long as the ball goes through the little metal hoop. In dance you have to be doing 17 different things at once and they all have to be right, from the obvious (remembering the steps) to the not-as-obvious (keeping your tailbone pointed down, rather than straight out). You can be doing 16 things right, but if you miss the 17th you are WRONG. OH, SO VERY WRONG.
Frankly, my ego just couldn’t take it. Being dictated by my ego is not something I like admitting, but my sense of self-preservation is nothing if not well developed. I can take rejection in my work life (freelance writing involves lots of rejection) or yelling in my hobby – but not both at the same time. I am a fragile blossom who requires petting and lots of banana bread to flourish.
Which begs the question – how much of what we do is wrapped up in ego? It’s hard to just let yourself be bad at something. It’s harder to let yourself be bad at multiple somethings. This is how people end up crumpled on the bathroom floor sobbing. (I haven’t been sobbing into my bathmat, by the way. It just paints a better mental image than scowling at an email from an editor and then maybe crumpling up a post-it note for emphasis.)
Most people, those of us who are not geniuses born in a shaft of heavenly light and composing sonatas before we complete potty training, need to spend a reasonable amount of time being bad at something before we get to be good at it. Which is fair, I guess. Instant gratification probably blackens your soul. Or at least tans it until it looks like one of those women who grew up in the hearty sunshine before the days of SPF and whose cheeks now resemble luggage. The crinkly, leathery kind. Not to say that I wouldn’t snap up a little instant gratification if some wandered across my meandering path. But still. Hauling yourself up by your middle class stiletto straps is the American way.
But herein lies the rub: If you do land your dream job or, in my case, figure out how to pay the bills (all of them) with writing, then you inevitably start staring at the next big thing. A promotion. An assignment with the New Yorker instead of Car Mechanics Monthly. A novel that’s not just published, it’s lauded. Ego can be a shrewish task-master, one that, frankly, just doesn’t shut up.
I’m trying not to let myself be ruled by my ego, the one that insists I should be a child prodigy, even though I haven’t been anything close to a child in 15 years. But it’s hard. Hard to say “I’m going to spend a year writing a novel, even though it will probably read like a cross between a Harlequin romance and a pompous lit professor’s first draft.” Hard to say “Freelance writing makes me something in the range of 37 cents an hour.” Hard to say “I will never be Anya. Ever.”
But I said it – and now my ego will spend the next hour whimpering under the couch. I don’t mean to complain. I am so lucky to have the chance to try to make a living doing what I love. I’m lucky to be able to work at my own pace, to be lazy in the morning and then work until 9 p.m. or take Friday off to ride roller coasters. I just hope I can make it work. Sometimes I think I can’t. More often I think I can. And every day I get to lie on the couch and stare out the window at the sky with my computer on my lap, ostensibly thinking about the wrestling match between Composition of Masterful Essays and the frantic scanning of craigslist for copywriting jobs, but really just luxuriating in a work space that doesn’t involve industrial carpeting and fluorescent lights.
If you were wondering, it looks something like this:
For me, success means being able to support myself and my family with work I enjoy and feel proud of. (It may also mean getting a book published. I make no promises for my raging vanity.) But I try not to get too hung up on outside indicators, like having David Sedaris call me up, begging me to collaborate with him on his next book. (Ahem.) Because that kind of nonsense? Just doesn’t stop. I suspect that if I give in, I could have a shelf full of published books and still be gnashing my teeth because none of them are bestsellers. And where’s the fun in that? (OK. Having a shelf full of published books might be a little fun. In the “running my fingertips over their thick spines and gloating” sort of way.)
Even if I have to go find a coffee shop somewhere that will pay me a small wage and overlook my tendency to break crockery, I feel certain that if I keep writing, I’ll keep getting better. And that’s what I’ll cling to, career success or otherwise. But I’ve given up on ever resembling Anya. Moving and looking like that requires giving a forceful “no” when presented with a tray of fresh rice krispy treats. And there are some sacrifices I’m just not prepared to make.
~~~
P.S. I would love to hear what you lovely folks consider success, career or otherwise.
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October 18th, 2007 at 3:46 pm
Success… I don’t really view it as a state of being, as though if I finally accomplish x, then I’ll be successful. I guess I’ll have been successful at x, but I feel a constant need to stay in motion and keep achieving. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I suppose it’s both. I’m naturally motivated, but I tend to judge myself too much based on the success or failure of my most recent endeavor.
We writers all tend toward the eggshell ego. But we’re also creative enough to carve out our own adventures–and a few of us are fortunate to have the means to do that. And if it’s your own adventure, there’s no established right or wrong definition of success or path to success. So all I can offer is this: Take advantage of the position you’re in and go for it. You certainly have one hell of an office.
October 18th, 2007 at 5:30 pm
I don’t know when I turned into that girl that shouts self help bullshit…but I am so her.
I learned this summer that you never realize you are making a difference while you are doing it. It is only in hindsight that we can look and say “Wow, that was a success”. The journey is supposed to be full of struggle and doubt.
So even though the $0.37/hour you are making now is a blow to the ego, the fact that you are creative enough to want to take the time to do this makes you a success.
You also know I am a whore and paychecks are how I gauge my one success. But just because I can’t create shit. ha.
Drinks. Soon. Maybe Friday?
October 18th, 2007 at 8:46 pm
i’ve been thinking about this quite a bit lately– i’ve got a situation not too far from yours (though not as a writer, as a theater-type) and i feel simultaneously so very lucky (setting my own hours! infinite paid vacation! creative, satisfying work!) and so very unclear (how am i making such little money! sweet jesus my car can’t break down! i’ll never be able to pay it off!)
i think i’ll always be so glad i lived this way for a portion of my life– creatively, in a city where i can live quite well on little money. while i worry i have much less ‘reality’ (house, health insurance, 401ks, etc) than i thought i would at this age, i’m also much more satisfied than those around me. i think, for now at least, that makes me feel successful.
October 19th, 2007 at 5:35 am
I consider that your view there is gorgeous and makes me wish for porches and sunshine right now.
But, also, success for me would be owning my own house so that we can have a dog and paint our walls red if we want to. Not renting anymore is success – I guess that’s just because I’m so tired of renting. Beyond that, my life is good, I am content with my lovely family and all that sort of thing, and if I just made a wee bit more money and the husband was settled in a good job, we’d be successful. Because much as I want it, I don’t really need Versace to be successful, I just need a door to my own private backyard and a muddy dog belly to scratch. Lake views wouldn’t hurt, either.
October 19th, 2007 at 8:48 am
I really can’t seem to form my thoughts on this into anything deep and meaningful, other than to say yes. YES. This is so true. It’s funny to realize that you are ruled by your ego – and to think that it is both a good and bad thing. Good because the ego is greedy for compliments, which makes us do things like work really hard so that we can get promoted, or dress in nice clothes so that we can look pretty. Bad because it also keeps us from doing things that we would like to try, but won’t because we can’t face the blow that is sure to come (even if temporarily) to good ol’ Mr. Ego.
Success to me is a mix of both of these things. It’s using your ambition to get what you want, and it’s overcoming fear of failure to get something that you weren’t positive you could get.
October 19th, 2007 at 12:59 pm
I can totally relate to your position. I’ve been gradually trying to redefine my idea of success so that it doesn’t necessarily include excessive monetary wealth and huge ego-strokers. I just want to make a decent living at something I enjoy, but that’s the clincher – $0.37/hr. (which is about what I make as well and always joke about it) is not the decent living I’m looking for. I think, though, there is something to be said about your decision to at least attempt to accomplish your dream. It is a huge sacrifice now, and you really don’t know how things will turn out, but the way I look at it is this: If I didn’t at least give it a good try, I would probably always be wondering “what if.” Hang in there.
October 19th, 2007 at 1:17 pm
success… being happy with who you are when you wake up every morning, and at the end of the day, proud of what you did with your self.
October 19th, 2007 at 2:34 pm
I like to think I define my overall “success” as “trying.” “Really, truly, one-hundred-percent, put your heart and soul and sweat into it trying.” If I fail, I fail, but I will have known I didn’t cop out. I will have known I didn’t sit around dreaming a “what-if” scenario I never fully even tried to make a reality.
Also: watching that video at work, sans sound, was probably the highlight of an otherwise dreadfully boring day. I loved Anya. I was also quite smitten with Dominic and Sabra, too. We are going to watch the show in November in Portland. Chris is such a good sport.
Also: your view is amazing.
October 20th, 2007 at 4:35 am
Success…well my definition for it has changed overtime and sometimes I think it changes daily. In the long term success for me is leading a happy and fully lived life. In the short term, sometimes it’s about completing a project and getting that atta girl from a boss…but more and more it’s about just living and really enjoying it.
October 21st, 2007 at 9:57 pm
As I age, my dreams and idea of success become less grand and move towards the center of common place — this I struggle with daily.
October 22nd, 2007 at 7:47 am
I should feel at least semi-successful and yet I do not. I suppose I’m still going through my ‘failure’ phase. I hope to be someday and though I know people are being kind and honest when they say it, it still chaps my hide to be told how “well I’m doing” for my age. Then why don’t I feel it?