On Never Arriving

Sometimes I feel like there’s this misconception about me– or you or anyone really. The idea is that we have arrived. It’s something I’ve heard before of me and of others– “How did you do it?” And “How does it feel now that you’ve accomplished this thing?”

I just worked.

And it feels the same.

Here’s the thing, whether your craft is writing or building relationships or hosting dinners or taking photographs, there is no moment where we kick up our feet, dust off our hands, and say, that was a great accomplishment. I can be done now. That’s just not how it works when you’ve got this thing in you that must be refined and reworked and shaped and shared and repeated. Athletes play until their bodies don’t let them anymore. Writers write until they lose them selves or their minds.

I barely remember any “release dates.” What I remember is the process because that’s where the meaning is for me. I remember tears and anguish, and I remember inspiration and dizzy typing. Getting published just seems like a, oh that’s nice that this wasn’t entirely for myself. Or the occasional, hooray I can feed myself today!

I say this now because, one, I don’t want anyone to have misconceptions about me. And two, because I’m feeling restless and I want to be honest about this life I lead. I’m restless for understanding what all this writing is for. I’m restless for understanding my platform and my audience and my future. There is no arrival here yet, I assure you.

And now I’m turning this page back to you: did you ever feel like you arrived? Do you feel restless with your call? Tell me I’m not just a crazy-lady. Or tell me I am. It’s cool and I won’t be offended.

[Soundtrack for the post: U2 ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’]