The world is not waiting for me. I used to know that. I used to hustle. I strove. I put it on the line. Now, after 25 years of working, succeeding, I feel as though the world should meet me halfway. But it won’t. I have to prove myself every single time out of the gate.
Maybe it’s not like that for everybody. Maybe you reach a certain level of success and things come to you. I imagine that’s true. I know friends whose achievements have opened big doors for them—but I also know they had to do the work that earned that opening and that, once through, even harder work began. So maybe they always hustle too.
I know my accomplishments have opened some doors for me. I am fortunate to have the credits I have, the job I have, the friends and network I have.
I’m not lazy in my day job. I work hard to create opportunities, to inspire others, to craft experiences, to help my company succeed.
But, outside of that, I wait for opportunities to come to me. I find it hard to motivate myself without certainty of reward. Throwing my hat into a new ring feels risky. I’ve experienced too much heartbreak, too much disappointment. When I sit down to work on a personal project, the shadow of “what if nothing comes of it” looms heavy and large. It can feel suffocating.
I’m turning 50 next month. There’s still so much I want to do creatively. I want to publish books. I want to write comics. I would love to work on a cartoon. I want to make a video game that I’m truly proud of and speaks from my heart. I want to release at least one more tabletop game.
Days are long but years are short. I cannot put this off much longer. I can’t keep kicking this can down the road.
My 40s were the most trying time of my life. The decade started with career turmoil, divorce, living separate from my kids, uncertainty in my future. But in the latter half came meeting an incredible woman and starting an exciting new chapter in life, a strong connection to my kids, a sense of happiness. It was the decade I reinvented myself personally. Amongst that, though, writing chapter books and comic scripts and middle grade novels that saw rejection after rejection. That made me gun shy professionally, artistically. I felt that I wasn’t worthy. That I didn’t have what it takes to get over in those fields.
People I trust, people who are successful doing that work, encourage me. And I appreciate their support. But sometimes doing the work and anticipating rejection just hurts too much.
I dunno. I don’t want to feel this way. I know I’m not done. I know I’m trying to stoke that fire inside me again.
I’m working on some personal stuff. It may never lead anywhere. I don’t control that. But I do control putting my ass in chair and the words down on paper. I do control reading, researching, and growing in my craft. I do control finding joy in the work and not in the work’s outward success.
I have no clue what the next decade holds but I don’t want to lose the time. So I’m promising myself that I’ll take advantage of it. Nothing is promised. The world isn’t waiting. But I’m going to keep on anyway.
