Simple, but not easy + Don't talk about it, be about it
A different kind of resolution
Before I jump in: as a life-long Californian, my heart is breaking for my friends in the LA area, many of whom are losing homes and significant places and seeing unimaginable devastation. This is a Google Sheet with resources, including places to donate to mutual aid funds (#wekeepussafe), which is the best way to get money and resources directly in the hands of people who need it (not through the big-name organizations).1 If you want to donate to a big one, World Central Kitchen is the move.
As a little girl, my parents signed me up to play soccer and basketball. I was not a talented athlete, to put it gently. When I played soccer, I once (okay, a few times) put a book in my shorts so that I could read when I was put at goalie; however, a larger issue for me was that I was terrified of the ball and would duck each time the ball came near the goal. Video footage of me running the field shows me jogging towards the ball and then slowing down any time I got near it.
When I played basketball, I was somehow worse. I played three seasons, and finally, in my third season, I made my first basket. I was THAT KID that all of the parents cheered for when that ball finally went in. I remember a number of parents congratulating me because “I tried so hard and it finally happened!”
Even as a kid, that took the wind out of my sails. I liked being a successful kid: I was eager to share the right answers in class, I took pride in reading a lot of books, and report cards were a source of joy. Those things took effort, but I had the sweet reward at the end. I wasn’t pitied as someone who was trying, but seen as someone who was achieving things.
The mortifying ordeal of being perceived while trying2 (and not succeeding?). Ick.
Recently, someone very kind told me that they admire “how hard I try”3 and then listing allllll of the things they’ve seen me try at over the years: writing, pursuits related to my body, stand-up comedy…they love how much I try! The comment was said with such love and that was how I received it.
I turned the comment over in my mind for days, convincing myself that I was being overly sensitive and silly. It was a nice thing to say! They were acknowledging me! It was said with love!
And yet, I felt like I was once again a 10-year-old with a weird mullet making one basket in three seasons.
I thought back to everything I’ve shared over the years: efforts to get a memoir published that failed, a year or more of rejections on everything I submitted, a stint in stand-up comedy that ended due to the pandemic (and that I never picked back up), and a million other small hopes and dreams.
When I look back, I feel foolish. Why on earth did I think it was a good idea to put myself out there and share these things? Why was I so optimistic about my book “making it”? Why was I sure that if I just submitted enough things, I would finally see my work somewhere?
I’m not seeking answers from anyone — I know why: because it’s easy and natural and human to want to find success and be able to show proof that you’re a writer, a comic, a fill-in-the-blank with your dream here.
I’ve been waffling this year about whether or not I wanted to make resolutions this year. Historically, I’ve been public about my resolutions or bucket lists or the experiences I hope to have in a year. I typically think it’s fun and interesting to share and update and tally my progress. I love a gold star!
This year, I didn’t have the same desire to write or share anything. The end of last year was exhausting and grief-filled. But there’s something more there, too: an intuitive desire for self-protection, maybe? I am not sure exactly what it is, only that right now, it feels vital to keep those feelings to myself. As I told a dear friend this week, “I’m finding myself sort of cringey and annoying these days.” Don’t worry — she reassured me AND YET. I persist.
I have some ideas for my year, of course. I’m still a Taurus sun and Virgo rising: I live for routines, planning. But instead of sharing them publicly, I’ve boiled them down to two things:
Simple, not easy.
One of my favorite spin instructors said this in class recently — that what we do in class is simple, but not easy. It’s not full of twists and turns, but rather, full of motions that aren’t complex, but aren’t easy. It takes a commitment to yourself and a decision to work hard.
I think simple, not easy is going to be my thing this year. Fewer classes, less things to accomplish — more routines, more sitting down and writing through things, more reading books I own, more focus on the process as opposed to the outcome. Less trying to look like a writer4, more writing. Simple practices that aren’t easy, but are effective.
Don’t talk about it, be about it.
I like to credit my friend Joy with this saying, as she is the first person I heard it from, but in short, it’s exactly what it sounds like: less talking (or posting), more working. Less outcome, less submitting, fewer big dreams and bold posts, and more quietly showing up and getting the work done — letting the proof be in the work itself.
Anne Lamott has long been one of my favorite writers (Bird By Bird is my go-to gift when friends tell me they want to start writing!) and she posted this on Threads:
This is the goal: stop not writing. Keep my butt in the chair. Stop being the kid every parent has to cheer for because they feel so humiliated on your behalf, and do the damn thing.
Other good things from the Internet: Olivia is writing another book! Chelsea’s advice is lovely, as always. If you have been waiting to try U Beauty (catch all my raves here and find my shop of ALL my favorites here), you can use my code AMYESTES for 20% off your first order (and support your favorite middle school English teacher)!
“I’m not a natural, all I do is try, try, try.” Fuck me UP, Taylor Swift!
This is my very favorite Taylor Swift song to cry to.
Your vulnerability is really powerful, especially in this essay where you're writing vulnerably about being vulnerable. I agree that it is excruciating to be perceived as trying, especially if the trying isn't immediately and only followed by succeeding. I hate for someone to tell me that they see me working hard at something; I perceive it as pity not admiration. BUT, I have to tell you: literally yesterday I was thinking about some of the essays you published last year in which you shared about the rejections and disappointments you were experiencing in you writing career. I think for me to tell you what your writing has actually meant for me in that regard would veer into para-social weirdness so I'll just tell you I think what you're doing is very powerful. You're not trying, you're doing. And also, keep letting us seeing you try because, despite what Yoda said, there is no do without try.
That Anne Lamont comment makes me feel…seen? Attacked?! (I kid). I recently had an exchange with my nephew, who was working on college applications. I was asking him about his essays and dropped a, “Well, if you need any help, don’t forget your auntie is a writer.” He said, “Oh, I didn’t really know that. What do you write?”
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I felt stupid explaining that well, you know, I went to *school* for writing and I write a lot for work. And my mind is like “plus aaaaall those things you think about writing!” So, touché, my nephew, touché.
I have such a hard time separating writing from publishing and embracing it as a craft that is for me to practice with no expectations other than to enjoy it. But “being about it” seems like a simple place to start.
Thank you for sharing. I agree there is much power in sharing your experiences and it no doubt reaches further than you imagine ❤️