Day 18: Being a Dismal Failure as a Human Being and an Artist

There's no avoiding it any longer.

I'm a sham.

A hack.

A big ol' failure.

When the crowning accomplishment of your week is that you cleared off the kitchen table, I think we can all agree it's time for you to stop trying to pretend that your life is anything other than a sad and utter catastrophe.

Ok, let's take this meta.

Hands up, who has ever felt this way?

I see one hand... two, three... ok, it's everybody. Everybody has felt this way. 

The problem with trying to create something--whether that be art, dinner, or a clean kitchen table--is that at a certain point, we have to acknowledge two things. These two things (which I will get to in a second) challenge our perception of reality, ourselves, and the way we function in life, to the extent that these realizations can lead us to despair, doubt, and even depression. These two facts suck, but they are true, and you have to accept them in order to move on and create art, make dinner, or get the carpet vacuumed.

And here they are, the two fundamental truths about life:

1. You are in charge of your life.

In so much fiction, and also in our imaginations, there are these bigger forces at play in our lives. Now, I'm not getting into a discussion about God here. What I'm talking about is the idea of Fate, Destiny, and what was Meant to Be. As a culture, even though we believe in the "American Dream," that with enough hard work anyone can become anything, we still believe in Fate. "This is what I was Meant to Do," many a movie protagonist has said, with shining eyes and effervescent hope. 

Think about fantasy novels, where the Mystical Long-Bearded Wizardman approaches our Young Protagonist. "Take this Magical Object/Creature, Young Protagonist," the Mystical Wizardman says. "It is your destiny to complete this quest! Only you can save Ourlandia from The Big Evil Guy!"

(This also applies to most Science Fiction, just replacing the Wizardman with a Spaceman, and the Magical Object/Creature with a Sciencish Object/Creature.)

The fact that we like this kind of story speaks volumes about what we want to believe about life: that there is one path set out before us, one thing we were "meant" to do, one person we were "meant" to love. The harsh reality, though, is that we aren't Young Protagonists. We're real people. Our lives aren't made up of a series of moments moving us closer and closer to our Pre-Ordained Destiny; our lives are made up of choices that we make, every day, moving us towards whatever we've decided to do.

It can be hard to accept that there is no right answer. There is no one, pre-determined course that your life must take. Rather, there are infinite variations on every possible outcome, and it's up to you to choose how to spend your time. So often, as a writer, I keep waiting for this magical stamp of approval, for the Muse to descend from Heaven (where she's been hanging out with Shakespeare and Whitman, who I hear are an item in the Literary afterlife), and confirm for me that yes, I am a Writer, this is my one and only destiny. I thought that I would get that feeling if I got a poem published; I didn't. Maybe if I got an article published, I would feel it. I didn't. Maybe if I paid $100,000 of future-me's money to get a couple of letters, surely that would confirm my fate? Nope. I felt no more sure of my "destiny" when I walked across that stage than I ever had.

Now I catch myself hoping that if I can finish this novel, I'll get it, that feeling I'm waiting for. Or maybe if I can get a novel published, I'll feel it: that feeling of finding my destiny, finding what I'm meant to do.

But I don't think I will feel it. I'm never going to feel that way, because the truth is, I don't have a destiny. All I have are choices. I could pursue teaching with all my passion and be a pretty good teacher. I could pursue writing, and who knows, maybe make it as a writer. I could drop everything and go become a tour guide of the Napa valley's rich scenery. I could elope with a Russian tourist and spend the rest of my days in Siberia, raising thirteen children and seven wolf-dogs, barefoot and smelling like borscht until the day I die. There isn't just one course for my life, or for yours. That can be incredibly freeing, but it can also be incredibly depressing and intimidating. Suddenly, you have a lot more responsibility than just following the path marked out by the Wizardman.

And then, just when you've accepted that first truth, as hard as it is, an even harder truth presents itself:

2. You are NOT in control of your life.

I know, I know. I rebut your indignation with Whitman:"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large, I contain multitudes."

Yes, you are in charge of making the decisions that will steer your life. But did you pick the weather today? Did you decide whether planes crashed or flowers budded? I'm going to go ahead and assume the obvious answer to those rhetorical questions (although if you answered "yes," then contact me! I have some suggestions for changes that could be made).

The point is, no matter how firmly you pick a path and how well your choices help you stick to that path, life is always going to happen. Your dog is going to get sick, or your cousin might win the lottery, or your dad may be diagnosed with a brain tumor. Sometimes, things just happen. And you have to be open to that, as well as willing to take responsibility for your own choices, as well.

And maybe-- I said maybe--sometimes the heavens open and the sunlight beams down on you for one moment, and in that moment you realize that there is only one thing you want to do, one person you want to love, one path you want to walk. Life happens, and you decide how you want to navigate the landscape life presents to you; if you want to choose to believe in your own destiny, well, I for one amn't going to stop you.

Just like I just chose to make amn't a word, and you can't stop me.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going back to feeling like a huge failure now.

But at least the kitchen table is clean.