I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but when I tell people that, many tell me I’m running away from doing the “hard” thing. Yet, simultaneously, they worry because they think it’s too “hard” to make it as a writer in this world. And they have a point — it takes a lot of hard work to be successful at something as subjective and competitive as being an artist. So which is it?

Which is harder: sacrificing security for your dreams or vice versa?

In my experience, those opposed to pursuing art as a career tend to believe artists will be happier working a job with a higher success rate for a living and treating art as a hobby. This is because they believe people are more likely to be financially stable that way. 

Art is seen as a financially unstable field, largely because people don’t think it is valued as much as other pursuits. Since artists enjoy making their art, it can’t possibly be work, so it must be play. If it is play, what could it offer society? And since you only get one life, and therefore, supposedly, only one real shot at success at whatever path you choose, you’d better not screw it up trying to profit off of something that isn’t valued in the real world.

The reality is not so black-and-white. Art can be both enjoyable and difficult, and each feeling can cause the other. The thing is, I feel the same pressure to make my one chance count. But because I only get one life, I don’t want to waste it being anyone other than who I want to be.

It’s not running away. It’s running right into everything that’s ever scared me, including the pursuit itself.

As a writer, I sometimes catch myself wishing I shared the opposing viewpoint; I wish I didn’t care so much about my art. I do worry, like everyone else.

I worry that I’m not good enough or that there are too many people like me or that even if I write something truly great — the perfect mixture of wise and emotional and relatable and raw and funny — that it still might not be marketable or conventional enough for others to give a chance. That thought — that my voice and my thoughts and my experiences and everything about who I am as a person might not be marketable — well, it’s hard not to take it personally.

But I’m not just afraid that I’m not good enough. I’m afraid that I am good enough, that I’m meant to do this. Because if that’s the case, I have to keep doing it even when I don’t want to, even when I don’t feel inspired, even during the tedious parts. I have to finish what I started and face plenty of rejection in the process. I could save myself a lot of pain by not bothering to find out if that’s the case. 

But then I think, what would be the beauty of art if its creators only sort of cared about it? If they could go with or without it? Art does have value — and that’s only true because it means something to us.

There are three main reasons why my writing means something to me.

One: It helps me make sense of things

I’m a very reflective person; I’ve always found even the most mundane parts of life to be beautifully interesting and worth analyzing. For me, writing is a way to simplify life, not complicate it.

I like using writing to help myself and others navigate life, so I put the most common thoughts into words everyone can understand. The goal is to use words to reach people, rather than isolate myself from them; I want to make sense of what we all feel. I use a variety of mediums to achieve this — poetry, journalism, songwriting, screenwriting, short stories, essays, raps, speeches and, as of recently, a coming-of-age memoir I will probably be piecing together for years to come.

While my lack of focus on a certain form of writing has made it difficult to picture a specific future for myself, I’ve come to embrace my versatility as a way to reach as wide an audience as possible.

Two: The Feeling

There’s this feeling that I call “The Feeling” because I can’t define it; I can only feel it.

I’ve spent my life trying to understand what The Feeling is trying to tell me, to no avail. All I know is that I’ll come across a song, a TV scene, a quote or something, and I’ll get this feeling that I need to write something down, but I don’t know what it is; I only know the feeling.

You might think The Feeling sounds like inspiration, but it’s something more. It’s being overwhelmed with an unidentifiable emotion that, according to my racing heart, needs my immediate attention, but I don’t know what to do with it. That’s because I don’t know what it is. But when I write while experiencing The Feeling, nothing could feel more right. And whenever I start to doubt my abilities, The Feeling comes back to remind me of whatever it is I keep forgetting. 

Three: I find life incredibly funny

I sometimes worry that my lighthearted, humorous writing style gives people another reason not to take me seriously, but it’s also another way to reach people. Let’s face it — literature has a reputation for being stuffy and boring. So if I can make it less boring, even if that means sacrificing my image as an earnest, soulful thinker, it’s still a smart choice because it holds their attention. Plus, humor can be a way to connect life’s dots. It’s how I show I’m paying attention.

If you’ve been burdened, like me, with the overwhelming desire to reach a goal so much larger than yourself that others have made you feel ridiculous for it, it might seem easier to keep daydreaming about it. That way, no one can take that possibility or identity away from you, and no one will call you crazy. And it’s true — it’s safer in dreamland, but the place loses its charm once you forget why you entered it in the first place.

The world puts up a tough fight; there’s no doubt about that. But I’m determined to believe that when it’s me against the world, armed with the carefulness fueled by my anxieties and the hopefulness fueled by my devotion, I’ll win.

Because when you love something, it’s harder not to try.

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