The other day, I was mocking others who can't be bothered to get out of their pajamas and slippers when leaving the house because they seek comfort, but over the last month, I’ve had trouble even leaving my house at all. How wimpy is that?
Yes, I've been sick, but still…
Have I given up? Am I avoiding anything that will bring the slightest bit of discomfort? I used to be able to plow through anything, but now a minor headache, and I take to my bed. How do I expect to accomplish anything if I'm going to let sickness slay me and keep me from doing things? A day or two, I can understand, but almost six weeks of dragging around? Enough already. Am I sabotaging myself?
I need to become stronger mentally and stop giving in to my physical weakness and discomfort. Empathy for oneself is good, but challenging myself to keep commitments and goals should still be in my wheelhouse. Promoting self-care, going to the doctor, and getting enough sleep are essential, and I don't deny the importance of that.
Is something else at play? After almost four years of writing and shilling books, reality is setting in, and reality sucks. We live in a world where it appears like successful people get instant gratification if they are "really talented." How many of your friends and relatives send you articles about a writer who had a best-selling book? Of course, none of them are newbies. If you look at their author page, you discover this is their fifth or sixth book, or they've written even more. Unrealistic expectations can knock you down and keep one from trying. These unrealistic expectations can take many forms:
I should feel like I did at age forty.
Thinking everyone is going to like my book.
Each book will sell hundreds of copies daily because I changed the cover and blurb. I know, I know… some author schools tell you this, but even they realize there is more to the story.
Thinking every new launch is going to be successful.
Changing my unrealistic expectations and making them align with reality will cause me to rise from my bed in the morning. I need to set realistic and achievable goals and remind myself they are goals. How about this:
Stay vertical and mobile and do age-appropriate things to stay active.
Get primarily positive reviews.
Sell a book a day.
Enjoy the launch for what it is—I completed a book and put it out into the world.
Stay focused on what I love to do—write.
I read a few thoughts about this subject on Quora and Reddit. I was delighted that others expressed similar issues. This is one response from one reader, Pablo Escobar is his handle:
"It's mostly society to blame for this problem. Humans are incredibly influential, and anyone who is more conscious, likely most CEOs or anyone rich, can see this and exploit it.
To much pleasure and no pain. All these pleasures and rules that society has is damaging people's minds. No mistakes are made in life anymore; just pleasure is felt, which is mainly why minds are weakening.
To much pleasure and no pain.
If Pablo is correct, I want to start feeling the pleasure part immediately. "What say you, dear reader, have we turned into babies? Is it from too much pleasure, living through COVID-19, or something else? In times like this, I need to hear from others with physical and other challenges and learn how they've managed to deal with them, stay productive, and follow their passions. Please leave a comment below:
Speaking of passion, have a wonderful Valentine’s Day!
Many other factors come into play, Kaye. I have read books that sold thousands of copies despite barely pedestrian prose and poor editing. I have come to realize that people with huge "followings" have a great advantage, even if they spell cat with a "K." I have been censored by algorithms, and my prayers to be lambasted by Ted Cruz or some Evangelical pastor have fallen on deaf ears (or is it Ears?).
At the end of the day, we must return to the core reality: that we write because of some inner prompting: a psychological imperative that causes us to take delight in creation of something out of nothing.
As for "Pablo Escobar," I don't know what he is smoking. "To[o] much pleasure and no pain"? Really? I must politely disagree.
HA! Ha! That was my thought, I want my pleasure right now! No doubt, most of are writing because we love it, but the last couple of months, whatever I've had has kept me feeling like I'm swimming blindfolded in a bowl of Jello with a weighed jacket. I can't go anywhere.