xi. Being ok with not knowing
xi. Being ok with not knowing
Where is this writing project taking me?
The Saturday Brunch: a figurative flat white or fizzy to start your weekend
I’ve always been a planner. I like to seek lofty goals or minute ones and calendar my progress. Journals are filled with mind maps of plans…for trips, work, novels…life. Some are color-coded. Others have related checklists. I had learned or taught myself along the way that this kind of organization and thoughts for the future would help me be more successful in all kinds of ways.
Often, planning does help me achieve my goals. But, of course, you can’t plan for everything. Life just happens sometimes.
Where were the blueprints for navigating the pandemic? For parenting perfectly? For helping sick relatives? For moving to Switzerland? They simply don’t exist.
While it would be wonderful to plan for difficult times in the best possible way (and we should use foresight to avoid some problems), the impossibility of planning everything also makes life meaningful. As challenging as joining the Swiss insider’s club might be, I’d rather fumble along and find my own way than follow a script. And often the plan I have for a day with my son is thrown out the window due to fatigue, other responsibilities, or his creative ideas. I’ve learned that sometimes less planning is good.
People ask me, so what’s this about? Where’s this all going? How much time do you spend doing xyz? When are you starting the podcast? How do you make enough money doing this? I’ve got lots of reasons I’m doing what I’m doing, and lots of ideas moving forward, but ultimately, this is the secret:
There is no master plan for The Matterhorn.
There is no map. No ladder to climb. No goals to fulfill. No checklists to success.
Sure, I do calendar writing goals and often schedule posts ahead by as much as three months. I make lists daily and weekly of what I hope to accomplish. But it’s all flexible. And because I’m learning so much along the way, I’m trying to stay open to different possibilities in the future. This feels both fantastically free and, at times, frighteningly vague. How do I know it’s all working and that I’m on track? Is it enough to just do what you love and hope it is something you can keep afloat, and that will evolve?
Two texts that helped me change my mindset were Oliver Burkeman’s 4000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, an alternative time management book that focuses more on finding joy and even the meaning of life, and this podcast from Andrew Barry with Alex & Books creator who shares the yo yo emotions of trying something creative on your own, but ultimately the way ‘success’ can be made by doing what you love:
I embarked on my writing journey long ago, but it wasn’t until this past summer that I became a full time writer. Well, a full time writer involves a lot more than writing, and on top of that I’m planning (??) for this thing here to turn into podcasting and workshops as well. I’m even planning (??) for my current yoga practice to enter this space. Maybe I’ll do something more with the music. Maybe I’ll do something with my friend’s new app I’m testing. If I plan too much, I’ll cut off these possibilities.
It’s not the fact that it is writing but that it is all up to me, my projects. I’ve learned a lot by listening to other creative entrepreneurs, not only writers, and will talk about them more in a couple weeks. For now, I’d like to investigate the way I’m embracing a lack of a clear direction in order to develop something that - I hope - is more meaningful.
Two heads are better than one - sometimes
Writing is solitary; so is starting a business or your own freelance work. It’s not only the time you spend doing the work on your own, but the decisions you have to make. You have to trust yourself; ultimately it is my decision what direction I go in, no matter how much feedback I aim to take from various resources, including the readers here.
I love the head space and quiet to think and to grapple with big ideas through writing. I also love that I am not at the mercy of a boss’s decision (although I’ve also had some great bosses whom I’m grateful for, including their decisions; a couple of them are readers here — hello!).
But at the same time, it can be really good to get out of my head as the joy of solitude can quickly become painful isolation. I occasionally talk with writers and editors online. Or I might ask advice or just ask someone I know to listen to an idea, or to take a quick look at something I wrote.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of collaborating that I often have no idea what direction it will take. There are always reasons and usually some goals: an artist or researcher’s connection to a topic I’ve written about, a writer who wants to grow their platform in a similar way, a desire for some idea or research to be shared with the world in a new way. But sometimes the collaboration starts simply with a connection, a coffee or an email with myself or the other expressing ambiguous interest.
It’s great firstly just to step outside myself and check out what somebody else is doing in the realms of culture, the arts, or writing. The conversations and reading are fascinating experiences. The conversations we have create a kind of intertext; something new is expressed. We discover how we can work together or we are able to document in an interview a new idea. It can be difficult to collaborate with someone without a clear vision; you have to trust that you have something to bring to the table and it won’t be a waste of time. Working with others who share this vision of dynamic cooperation has been a wonderful gift.
On the novels
Part of what I do now is write long fiction. I’ve written about the way I write novels, and you can see that I don’t start with a goal for these either. It helps me open up to possibilities.
Practically, doing other things besides only focusing on the fiction writing gives me a lot more possibilities. Newsletter, collaborations, teaching…I guess I’m trying to think of the ‘whole project’ as a piece of art, like a novel. To make it better quality, I have to allow these freedoms, though they may lead to more existential questions and walks of contemplation.
I’m not even sure what physical or digital end product my current piece of fiction will take. There are all sorts of reasons — ranging from the freedom of the artistry to the business plan — to go with traditional or indie publishers, or even go completely on your own. In different cases, each of these might be best. Most traditionally published novels fail to make money, so this assumption that it is ‘best’ is not always right (as discussed in this newsletter from Lincoln Michel; check out the comment from industry rep Kristen McLean: lead industry analyst from NPD BookScan.)
I’ve gone traditional and self, and plan to go indie with the one I’ve got sitting in my drawer. This one I’m writing now, I’m not sure yet. Some are even publishing serially on this platform, like Simon K. Jones. Dickens did this (although obviously in paper format). Why shouldn’t it work for Mr. Jones?
Possibilities can be overwhelming
Long ago, I became ‘ok with not knowing’ in my classrooms. As a student, sure, you’re supposed to be seeking knowledge, but as a teacher, the idea is at first daunting. I shifted my perspective early in my career to one of exploring together rather than teaching what I know. Hopefully there were a few things I had learned over the years that I could teach my students! But at the same time, knowledge is dynamic. I also found that the more they inquired in order to learn, even if I hoped to guide them toward some nuggets of truth, their journeys were both more impactful and could lead to unexpected results.
I’m trying to channel this idea in my writing and this project. As I say on the ‘about page’, a lot of the work I do here is about discovering new things rather than simply imparting the truths I have picked up over the years.
But the possibilities are endless. For the topics, for the way I choose to write, for the future shapes this can all take, for the way I spend my time working on any given day…
Yes, some days I freak out. It can just be too much!
But I remind myself I’m getting overwhelmed by what I love rather than something I hate. That’s a totally different kind of overwhelmed. I get overwhelmed by my kid all the time. Who has the answers for parenting, an act of love? They’re within. And so are these answers. I remind myself to trust myself.
I also remember to take a break. To meet a friend for coffee. To build a train track with my son. To go on a run. Sometimes, ironically, it is in the break (or thereafter) that the answer comes to me.
What is success?
Each answer, each push forward is a kind of success here. Sometimes success feels like reaching a writing goal for the day, finishing a piece, or collaborating with someone whose ideas I like. Sometimes it feels like a large amount of ‘reads’. Sometimes it feels like reaching one person deeply, somebody who feels compelled to continue the conversation by email or in comments.
I’ve also had to make new meaning of success. We can see it as status or money, as fame, as publication in xyz. Money is quite useful (American ‘quite’). Status can be, too, if it gets you where and what you want to do. But they are not everything.
Not everybody has the luxury to quit their job and start writing, hoping one day it will turn into enough income to survive as comfortably as they’ve chosen. I get that. There are ways to do this on the side, and that really works better for some people. Some will go full time as a creator of some kind because they don’t have a job and have wanted to try; others will have the backing of their own cash reserves or someone who cares about them.
I took the leap partly sparked by circumstance and partly because we found ourselves in the position that I could do it and see where we were at in a couple of years due to my husband’s good and stable job and our savings. It was also a decision based on my son’s young age; I have a lot more flexibility to spend time with him than I would at jobs I’ve had in the past.
Success for me is simply doing it.
I love the success of reaching readers. Making some money also helps, because I can use that money for the project to grow, and it also means someone is enjoying the work. But if I judged myself on these two things all the time, I’d find myself in a very empty place.
Instead, it is the active creating, writing, collaborating, discovering, risking…and other parts of the journey that are dynamic forms of success. Even ‘failure’ can be a triumph if you can learn from it. I want to celebrate this kind of success no matter where the direction goes.
Keep calm and carry on
My English husband helps to convey this message whenever possible. “Keep calm and carry on” is the message the British government gave its citizens in 1939 to enact “sober restraint” in the home war effort. I’m not obtusely likening the experience of being a writer or entrepreneur to living through war; rather, I want to highlight the way we can face an experience of not knowing the outcome.
My husband’s never been a fan of the monarchy, so don’t read into the symbolic crown, but this is a copy of the original WWII poster:
I’m doing what I love, but sometimes it feels as chaotic as a metaphorical war inside my head despite my lucky life in calm and prosperous (though not neutral anymore) Switzerland. It’s not for lack of optimism or some kind of threat against me or my family, but lack of clarity at both the day to day and end result.
The ‘restraint’ element of the message is also important. With a creative project, it’s easy to get excited about an idea and go all in without trying it out or researching the effect. I’m not just talking about the ‘success’ of readership or value in a business sense; if we commit to something, it also takes time away from other parts of our projects (and our lives). We have to be ok with trying something and readjusting if it doesn’t work out, rather than quickly deciding to spend all our time on this new thing.
In just a few months, I’ve learned a lot of lessons about not knowing and about carrying on. However, that doesn’t mean it’s always easy to keep this mindset. I just have to remember, I’m doing what I love. I need to keep moving toward what I love. This way, even if success is not marked through readership or money, I can feel good about the journey.
Are you a creator/writer/entrepreneur? What works for you? How do you measure your success? How do you avoid or embrace the existential questions?
Kathleen Waller is a novelist with a PhD in Comparative Literature. She previously taught literature, cultural studies, art, ethics, and epistemology to high school and university students for twenty years. For more information: kathleenwaller.com
I can relate to so much of what you write here, Kate. I just did a career panel for high schoolers three times over the span of a morning. Different questions but each session asked a version of "when did you know you'd be a (insert profession)." I'm sure I thought similarly at their age that there's on / off, binary, certainty in life. The clouds part, angels sing, and we stride into the next chapter of our life unwaveringly. I encouraged them to not wait for a perfect feeling to start something because those are few and far between and said the way to relative certainty, or as much as is healthy anyway, is by wading through lots of uncertainty and doubt.
Thank you for such a nice essay....... Helping others understand how to make our lives, our work, our projects, and our families synthesize into what we love ......