Learning To Appreciate What You Do

I exchanged glances with myself in the mirror and have seen the enemy.

I believe it’s safe to say most times a writer is their own worst enemy. We frequently spend time in rough places writing through the pain in the hope of finding a cathartic message that can aid in riding out the storm. A lot of times we offer cautionary tales to our readers hoping they’ll read what’s going on with us and learn to spot the warning signs in time.

But few of us look back on our previous work satisfied and thinking happy thoughts.

Oh no. Most of us, as we pour over our cryptic tomes, just can’t seem to cast a critical eye on our work and be pleased with what we’ve written. Therein lies the rub (thanks, William) to most of our angst.

We can’t seem to enjoy or appreciate what we’ve written. Almost everything we write, even past works we were once semi-proud of, become circumspect and, in our opinion, fall short of where they need to be.

We neither appreciate the effort it took to research the piece nor the way we wrote and rewrote. We often forget how much we edited and re-edited the article to bring it to the polished state it is now.

And though polished, we often tell ourselves it’s just not very good. For a lot of us, our work quickly becomes nothing more than stair steps on a seemingly eternal flight of stairs.

Stairs we continuously tread, firmly convinced we’ll never reach the top. But we tell ourselves to have a shred of a chance we need to keep writing. And so, we fire and forget, then fire again, then forget again.

We continue to plunge forward, seldom looking back, always reminding ourselves what we wrote in the past was blatant bullsh*t, and we need to get a whole lot better to get there.

There? Where the h*ll is there? Are we even sure we know anymore?

We often (maybe it’s only me, but I kind of doubt it) beat the ever loving sh*t out of ourselves. Sometimes we view our work like it’s a sordid memory of past nightmares, and we can’t stand to even look at them.

Who needs public criticism of our attempts when we constantly beat ourselves up over our work? The problem is when we do receive public criticism, it usually sends us reeling for a while.

How dare they? Don’t they understanding beating the crap out of me is my job?

The thing is, what happens next is often what separates the veteran writers from the wannabes. For most of us, the hit is almost like a low blow, ultimately sending us to the canvas.

Yeah, gimme that eight count ref and then I’ll get back up.

But the more seasoned veterans among us have learned to take the hits and keep on swinging. So how is it the veteran writers can keep on moving forward, and yet some of us come to a screeching halt as if we’ve just slammed into a brick wall?

It’s because the vets have learned to appreciate what they do. It doesn’t mean they think their work is perfect. They know there’s always room for improvement.

But whether they’re bringing in a ton of money or pennies, to a writer, they’ve all learned to respect and appreciate their writing and the effort it takes to write.

And by doing so, they’ve discovered a way to heal themselves. If even for a brief moment. Because they also know the healing is never permanent.

’Cause the hits just keep on coming folks.

And when they do, all the veterans know at that point they’ll have to consciously lead themselves back to enlightenment.

The enlightenment I’m talking about is the feeling you get when you realize you appreciate what you’re doing, you appreciate your own body of work.

Be forewarned. This is not a once in a lifetime experience, folks.

I’m willing to bet you never expected you’d have to continually experience these Yogi Berra moments of Déjà vu all over again throughout your entire career, did you?

Surprisingly, you do. I recently experienced this very moment.

Again.

And it wasn’t planned, that’s for sure.

They never are.

I was losing my reading base (I don’t know why. Could it be because I suck?) and it didn’t seem like it mattered what I wrote or how I wrote it. Everything was turning to sh*t so, of course, I did what P.G. always does when things don’t go his way.

I began beating the crap out of myself. And I was getting some severe licks in on my self-esteem.

I was leading myself down the “feel like sh*t about myself” road with abandon. And yet, somehow I was able to painfully keep moving forward.

Then I read some of the brilliant pieces a lot of you have written lately. It felt like you knew what was going on in my head, and it made me start feeling a little better about myself.

Then some of you wonderful readers read a few pieces of mine and commented on how much you loved them.

And I suddenly realized if so many of you write things I appreciate, and so many of you read what I write and offer comments of support and tell me how much you appreciate my writing them, then how come I don’t appreciate what I do myself?

Huh, another quandary almost everybody figured out before I did.

Figures.

I can’t believe after all my years of writing, and two years before the mast within these hallowed story halls, I’m just now coming to a real understanding.

After tons of reading other writer’s introspection and beliefs, I’m just now beginning to feel an appreciation for my own efforts. I’m just now starting to feel good about my work.

Just now starting to heal.

And truth be told, I owe this newfound, but age-old, discovery to all the wonderful readers and stellar writers out there.

Right now, I’m laughing at myself in a chagrined sort of way.

When I stop to think about it, I’m just an old dog learning tricks I’d long ago forgotten as if learning them for the first time.

Again.

Yogi? You ain’t got nothing on this do-over.

Thank You So Much For Reading

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