Laden...
Hello,
Last week, I shared a story about how a bartender pulled a gun and pointed it at me. If you missed it, you can read that here.
Also, I’m doing a live training later this week on how to make a living blogging. All the details are here. Don’t miss it!
This week, as I scroll my social media feeds and read my emails, as I listen to what’s going on in the world, I think, “Does anyone have any idea what’s going on? Do I? Is the world ending? Are we going to be okay?”
One thing I see everywhere is fear, and what I know about fear is that it is rarely accurate. Or rather, when we are in a fearful state, our decisions are often quick and irrational. And that makes sense when our lives are actually in danger. But as my friend Jake taught me last week, while he was staring down a drunk man with a gun, sometimes the most seemingly threatening situations contain a hidden opportunity in them.
What does that mean for us, we who aspire to dream and create a new world for ourselves the ones we love? Those of us who want to tell stories and write books that change the way people see everything? I think it means that we must seek to find the opportunity that exists in this moment. Yes, this very moment that is filled with all its uncertainty and fear and potential danger. Can you do that? Can I? I’m not sure, but I’d like to try.
Ten years ago, I was unhappy with my life and had no reason to be. I had a good job, a nice life in the suburbs. My wife was expecting our first child, and I kept getting raises and promotions. We were debt-free, settled into a nice routine in a new home outside of Nashville, and I felt inside of me a deep longing. I wanted more.
I didn’t know what to call this, this voice, this hunger, this sense that I was missing out. For a while—and I mean, years—I suppressed this feeling, pushed it down. Way, way down. And every once in a while, it would poke up in the most surprising of circumstances: at a conference, maybe while I was out running or watching a movie, anytime I wasn’t quite paying attention to what I ought to be doing with my life.
And when this happened, I would get angry and then sad, and then distract myself with busyness. Eventually, though, these instances kept popping up again and again. The hunger grew. Work became less fulfilling; my angst increased, and I wondered what was wrong with me. Why wasn’t I content?
I began to search for answers by reading books, listening to podcasts, attending events—all with the intent of trying to fix this hunger, this desire for more. Surely, if I tried hard enough, maybe prayed more or learned more or did something more, it would go away.
It didn’t.
In fact, over and over again, I kept bumping into the same word: writer. I heard it at conferences, felt it tingle in my soul every time I heard someone talk about writing their first book or the fact that they felt called to this creative vocation. Yes, that's how I felt, too: called.
Still, this couldn’t be. I had responsibilities now. A good job. A wife. A kid on the way. I couldn’t jeopardize it all for some fleeting fancy like writing.
Then, one day a friend asked me a hard question:
“What’s your dream?” He said.
“What?” I asked, not understanding the language he was speaking. “Dream? I don’t have one of those. I have a job. Don’t need a dream.”
“That’s funny, because I thought you were going to say that you wanted to be a writer.”
I laughed. “What? Why?”
“Well, because you’re always talking about writing, reading books about writing. Just seems like something you’re really into.”
“Oh,” I said, my gaze lowered. “Yeah, I guess I’d like to do that… some day. But that’ll never happen.”
“Jeff,” my friend said, waiting for me to look up at him. “You don’t have to want to be a writer. You are a writer. You just need to write.”
“Oh,” I said, as his words hit my chest and the energy of them seemed to surge through my body. Yes, that was it. I am a writer. I just need to write.
The next morning, I sat down and wrote 500 words and have been doing it almost every day since. I immediately began publishing on a brand-new blog as a way of “practicing in public” and honing my voice.
And ten years later, I am still doing it, the one small thing that changed everything.
Why share this today? Because back then, I was scared. Unsure of myself. Wondering why everything I wanted to do seemed so hard. We had just come out of a recession, and it was silly to leave my job as a nonprofit marketer. But nonetheless, I had this feeling. This inner sense that has haunted my whole life whenever a big thing is about to him. And the voice always says the same thing:
There’s more.
Maybe you’ve heard this, too. I don’t know. All I know is the more I listen to that voice, the better my life goes. Not easier, necessarily; but truer. More beautiful.
The opportunity that exists in this moment, right now, is to believe that even in the midst of so much fear and chaos, there’s more for you. To choose hope. To believe something beautiful and wonderful can emerge from this chrysalis of a year in which we all find ourselves.
And maybe it begins with something as simple as acknowledging who and what you already are, then acting from that place. Activity follows identity, after all.
I do think a tremendous opportunity exists for any writer or creative communicator who wants to share their message with the world. That’s why I’ll be sharing my story this week of making a living as a blogger for the past ten years, along with all the lessons I’ve learned. It’s totally free, so if you’d like to learn more, tune in here (make sure you register as seats are limited!).
See you soon,
Jeff
P.S. What opportunity exists for you in this moment? Shoot me a reply. I’d love to hear it.
Laden...
Laden...
