For eighteen years, I’ve written a letter to myself on my birthday. The next year, I read the letter and write a new one to my future self. Having just finished writing my 19th letter, I’m writing a series of posts in which I revisit and reflect on each letter to date.
Seventeen years ago, on my 27th birthday, I sat in Mishka’s Cafe, a coffee shop in Davis, California, writing a letter to my future self. The white-noise whir of coffee grinders, the bold, fruity smells of dark-roasted beans, and the whispering clickety-clacks of fingers on keyboards has always helped draw out my inner voice.
On the table, flanking my stationery and pen, a half-eaten cookie on a white ceramic plate and a steaming mug of latte. All around me, students hunched over laptops, furiously typing the million-dollar thoughts they believed would change the world. A few stared beyond stacks of books and notes toward the crisp, bright day unfolding outside. Wistful, melancholy, or simply listening for inspiration, I couldn’t tell.
And then, me, a Sociology grad student with neither book nor computer to signal my productive worth. Just me with a new haircut, a sweet treat, a pen, and some paper, trying to impart some kind of profound wisdom to my future self.
As I read last year’s letter, I realize I am in much the same place right now. I strayed from Artist’s Way and writing for a few months. Then, I remembered the energy and happiness I felt when I wrote my letter last year. I couldn’t let myself down, so I started again.
March 9, 2006
I strayed. I couldn’t let myself down, so I started again. Rather than hiking a path toward some fixed point, I found myself in a river that rushes, trickles, swirls into eddies, plays in the shallows, and gathers wisely into its depths. Had I strayed or simply followed the river? I couldn’t let myself down, so I let go of trying to force my life into a box to instead float with the current of my creativity.
In one year I will be almost finished with classes. I will have taught for 3 more quarters. Do I like it? Am I still following my heart? Never forget that writing is my life source.
March 9, 2006
Am I still following my heart? In this question, an important corrective to the “Am I succeeding? Do people like me? How can I do better?” commentary underlying my daily life. In this redirection, I remind myself to follow my internal compass rather than chase dopamine hits of satisfaction from meeting external demands.
But the reminder lasts less than one line.
Hopefully, one year from now, as I sit reading this letter, I will have at least one story published. It’s possible.
March 9, 2006
I don’t fault that version of myself for turning my life source into an achievement-based pursuit. Achieving milestones was the only definition of success I knew. Instead, I look upon her with love. As she measures her success in terms of external validation, doubt creeps in. I can hear the inner critics even now:
“A story published within a year?,” they roar. “Ha! You’re not good enough for that. The stories in Granta, ZYZZYVA, and Glimmer Train are all so much better than yours. The editors will laugh off your submissions. After all, you’re not a real writer.”
And so, I amended my lofty goal. It’s possible, I wrote in the whisper of a little girl whose hopes of a joyous ride down the river have just been dashed by the meanest of trolls stabbing holes in her raft before the journey even begins.
But then, I recovered and tucked a seed into my soul.
Remember: grad school is my hobby, writing is my life. Creativity sustains me. I’m happy now. My life is coming into balance.
March 9, 2006
In the coming years, I inadvertently watered this seed. As I wrote academic articles and my book, I veered into storytelling even though I knew the stories would have to be reined in for publication. Every once in a while, I wrote a few pages of an intriguing plot line or interesting character, and then closed the journal with silent apologies for leaving them undeveloped and alone on the page. Only now do I recognize these stolen moments as sunlight for the buried seed.
I still can’t pinpoint the moment my career overtook creative writing. Perhaps that will become clearer in the letters to come. Although I eventually forgot to treat my career as a hobby, that seed of desire stayed in fertile ground, nourished by moments of storytelling until I returned stronger, wiser, and ready to devote my full attention to my indelible life source.
I do not regret swirling in the eddy of academia for so long. While I often mistook the eddy as the whole river, I now see it as an important way station from which I scouted out my identity and gathered my equipment before plunging back into the wild ride of my next adventure.
P.S.
A book and a podcast episode helped me think more about issues in this post. I’ll be writing about these on Medium soon, so follow me there to get notified when it’s published.
For now, here’s links to the book, Dr. Erin Cech’s, The Trouble with Passion: How Searching for Fulfillment at Work Fosters Inequality, and Dr. Laurie Santos’ podcast, The Happiness Lab in which she talks with Simone Stolzoff, the author of the book, The Good Enough Job: Reclaiming Life from Work.
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