There was something different in the air. Everyone present knew that, could feel it. It was on their faces; it was on mine. Because to be amongst other like-minded people—all brimming with dreams and grand aspirations, each individual chasing "what if," while also taking in the powerful reminder of the collective that events like the one we were at provides—well, it's infectious. Magical, some would say.
All of that was running through my mind as I sat, waiting for the break to end and the next session to start. I was sipping my first-ever can of a strawberry lemon poppi (pretty tasty) and thumbing through Ryan Holiday's latest book, Wisdom Takes Work, a copy of which was included with each ticket. That was the primary reason we were all there, late last year, at The Sunset Room in Austin, TX: to hear a conversation between Ryan and Nathan Barry, founder of Kit, about Ryan's business as an author, bookseller, and creative.
I appreciated the short respite between sessions. In fact, I probably needed it. My hand was already cramping from all the notes I'd taken, and I anticipated a lot more ink to spill onto the pages of my pocket notebook. The first session was also all about communication and we did a lot of talking. So, some time with the new book felt like the perfect way to recharge while most other attendees were out getting a quick bite.
Then, closer to the start of the session with Ryan and Nathan, someone sat beside me. The typical introductions for this kind of networking interaction ensued: name, where you're from, what you do, etc.
We were both writers, we'd learned, which wasn't much of a surprise since we were both at an event for creatives about the business of making and sharing stuff in the modern world. However, there were two little differences between the two of us regarding our writing paths.
First, my new colleague's debut book was in the process of being published, whereas I was barely chipping away at mine, procrastinating more often than not. And, secondly, because the event was one hosted by Kit, the email marketing platform, the conversation turned to newsletters. At the time, I had just barely surpassed 100 readers, which I was absolutely thrilled for. The author, now wanting to grow an audience to share his book with upon publication, said he was stuck at 70 subscribers and had been there for way too long for his liking. He wanted to hit triple digits, that next little milestone.
That's when he asked me for advice on how to cross that threshold. Me.
I was immediately dismissive, stumbling my way through a response. Not of him or his question—because anyone sharing their work online wants it to be seen—but of myself. We were in a room, now filling back up post-dinner, with podcasters, filmmakers, authors, and other creative-types—some of whom were bestsellers or had followings in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions. Like the kind of people who were able to do more than simply supplement their income with art or even make a living solely through their creativity. Not to mention Ryan and Nathan, who were about to take the stage, and were literally millionaires because of the media businesses they built.
Despite my doubts, I eventually shared with him what I had (mostly) been doing that seemed to be steadily working: to craft pieces consistently, to announce and publish them on social media, to not be scared of letting people know that you're a writer with a newsletter you're proud of, and to ask readers who enjoy your work to send the entries to others who might also like your perspective on things.
Later, after the closing party, on the drive back from Austin to San Antonio, I started thinking about the event. So much inspiring and informative stuff happened over the course of the day, and yet, the thing turning through my mind was that conversation with the new author. Specifically, how quickly I defaulted to disbelief in myself.
Do You Hear That?
Julia Cameron is a teacher and author of one of the most popular books on creativity, The Artist's Way. I still haven't read through the entirety of my copy of the book (I need to), but I've heard her ideas about the lives of artists countless times. Seriously, if you've listened to any interview with authors, filmmakers, or anyone of the creative ilk, you've certainly heard her book referenced before. Her work is synonymous with the creative path.
In The Artist's Way, she writes,
As blocked artists, we tend to criticize ourselves mercilessly. Even if we look like functioning artists to the world, we feel we never do enough and what we do isn't right. We are victims of our own internalized perfectionist, a nasty internal and eternal critic, the Censor, who resides in our (left) brain and keeps up a constant stream of subversive remarks that are often disguised as the truth.
At the event that day, when asked about Cristian's Commonplace, the first voice to launch from the podium in my mind was that of my inner critic. I didn't realize it in the moment, but I saw it clearly later on.
A New Way Forward
On the drive home, I kept thinking of that instinctual doubt and all of those limiting thoughts that my inner critic was all-too-quick to hurl. That my voice didn't matter and I had nothing to say. That it was too silly to even try, so why was I? Surely, I was making a fool of myself. Because I'd never get anywhere worthwhile. Right? On and on the familiar, self-flagellating monologue went.
Until, eventually, something clicked for me.
The author wasn't asking about a silver bullet or secret method. And I didn't pretend to have that. He was only asking about the next practical step he was trying to take on his path, one that I already had taken on mine. What I had already done felt feasible for him. My journey wasn't as daunting as trying to aim for the media empires that others in the room had. That next step's possibility felt attainable coming from me, the person next to him, rather than from the people up on that stage who had already moved far beyond our point. I was the one he was able to relate to.
As that realization settled in, so did the affirmation that I did know some stuff. Of course I did. I mean, I did have multiple jobs where creativity was at the forefront. I was building something really exciting with my newsletter. I was living an artist's life, my way. Maybe I did have a little to share. I might not always get it right, but I could be confident that I'd always find my way.
What's funny is that we both had accomplished something that the other also wanted to achieve. Well, if I wasn't so full of doubt at the time, I might've asked him about his perspective of the publishing process as someone who was just getting started. Because that was a step he was taking that I had yet to.
On that highway, I thought about turning up the music to try to get a head start in silencing the next instance my inner critic wanted to make an unwelcomed announcement. But I figured that, probably, that's a hopeless endeavor. An impossible one. Maybe that voice should have a seat at the table. Or a spot in the car. But I wouldn't let it be the one behind the steering wheel. It was my turn to drive.
Keep Going
So, friend, whether you're pursuing an explicitly creative life or not, remember all that you know is already more than enough. You can show others where you've been and continue to work toward appreciating all that you're becoming.
Don't let doubt be the first response. And if it is, combat it. Try not to let the inner critic be the loudest voice. Surround yourself with others who will help you drown out that noise. Because you're not alone in this. We all suffer from the spotlight effect. Remind yourself that others aren't hearing what your inner critic is saying.
In fact, they might be amazed by how far you've already come on your path.
