Have I mentioned I love what I do?
This is a frequent joke between my husband and me—because I mention it at least two times a week.
I really, really love what I do.
When people ask me if there’s a part of my writing process that I don’t like, I usually have a hard time coming up with one. Because every part of it is enjoyable—the exciting origin of an idea, its development into a possible story, the drafting of that story and all its messiness, the revisions that feel like puzzles.
Copy editing may be my least favorite part, I think. And yet still enjoyable in its own way—especially because it represents an almost-finished book!
Not a day goes by that I don’t feel incredibly grateful that I get to do this.
The writing life is full of uncertainty—and uncertainty is not my favorite. (Okay, I found my least favorite part of the process…also—reviews). I could go whole years without selling another book to a publisher, without seeing one of my books out in the world. The uncertainty can feel nearly impossible to carry sometimes.
And yet every time my agent and I go out on submission with a new manuscript, I feel such hope and possibility. Because I know that what I do matters. It matters to me, and it also matters to the readers of my books. It matters to children and adolescents and young adults and older adults—everyone who picks up one of my novels or poetry or essay books.
We may not ever know just how much our work matters. We till the soil, plant the seeds. We don’t always get to see the blooms or how colorful the flowers are.
Recently I visited my youngest son’s elementary school, where I talked and taught about poetry. A mom I didn’t know found me on social media and sent me a personal message. She told me that her son, a third grader like my son, had not stopped writing poetry since my visit. She said, “I don’t know what you said to those kids, but he is writing like I’ve never seen.” She sent me pictures of his poetry, which he stapled together like a book. It was precious.
Every now and then, we do get confirmation that what we do matters. Those days are the best—but also few and far between. So we have to keep reminding ourselves that our work matters. Sometimes we’re the only ones holding on to the truth that it does.
When we feel like something doesn’t matter, it’s really challenging to keep doing it. To stay motivated. I see this in my teenagers, who are all done with school (we have one more week. They’re so done.). They think school doesn’t matter to their future. I remember thinking that about certain classes when I was in high school. I had to make myself care about AP physics; I knew I wouldn’t need it in my future. But I did need it to graduate at the top of my class and get a scholarship, which was the only way I knew I’d get a chance to go to college.
So much of the impact we make is invisible. Sometimes it’s hard to remember our work matters. That we matter. So how do hold fast to that conviction?
Here are some of my favorite ways to remember I’m making a difference in the world:
1. Keep a folder of all the kind notes you’ve gotten.
As a writer, I know not many get in touch to tell you how much your writing meant to them. I can work and work and work and never feel like I’m doing anything worthwhile. Half the time I feel completely invisible anyway. No one knows my work. No one’s read a thing I’ve written. (Of course that’s not true. It’s just the negative voice inside our heads talking.)
But people have gotten in touch over the years. I keep their notes in folders on my computer and in my email. I keep actual physical folders, where I print out the kind and thoughtful notes I’ve received. They remind me when I forget that my work is making an impact I can’t always see.
Do the same for yourself. Keep those things in a visible, easily-accessible place. And revisit them often.
2. Adopt your own mantra: What I do matters.
Put your mantra in a prominent place—on your cork board or use a post-it note to stick it to your computer, or write it on your mirror so every time you look at yourself you say the mantra, too. Repeat it over and over and over in your head until that’s the voice you hear when things get rough.
Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is hold on to our own belief and conviction that our work matters, that it’s doing something good in the world. Because if we don’t believe, who will?
3. Check in with your motivations.
Of course we want to be known, maybe even a little bit famous—but we do our work for better reasons than that. Some of those for me: helping kids and teens known they’re perfect just the way they are. To bear witness to difficult stories in mine and others’ lives. To help readers see a way through hardship and feel seen. To heal the broken places in myself and in the world.
Go back to those motivations. When you look at the reasons you do things, you can’t help but know that your actions matter.
Now. Some of us may not actually love what we do. I worked a job for more than a decade that I wasn’t too thrilled about. It was necessary. Here are some strategies for making the less-than-enjoyable things a little more enjoyable:
1. Remind yourself that you get to do this, not that you have to.
(Yes, it’s sometimes hard to do. But seeing things as a privilege or a gift helps us put things in better perspective. When we get to do something, we’re lucky!)
2. Make it fun with rewards or celebrations.
(Everybody loves a celebration. And sometimes we can trick our brains into loving something if we tie it to a reward.)
3. Put on some music.
(When my family and I don’t feel like cleaning—because cleaning is the worst—we put on music. We may not exactly love it, but music at least makes it more enjoyable. Music makes most things better.)
I tend to agree with Katharine Graham, a newspaper publisher: “To love what you do and feel that it matters—how could anything be more fun?”
Have a beautiful month of loving what you do, knowing that it—and you—matters, and having fun every step of the way.
