It’s amazing how many times I thought of giving up on the idea of writing. When rejections came pouring in with no hope in sight, this seemed like the best choice.
Questions bombarded my mind without end and my emotions were a seesaw of hope, dreams and doubt.
What’s the point?
The thing is that I did give up once. I decided to quit writing and focus on the other aspects of life, like work, partying, friends, family. I thought I’d be happy without the constant let down caused by the actions of others.
Yet the opposite proved true. I was even unhappier. Worse, I became intolerant, morose, poor company. I was a wreck.
Giving up on my dream left a space in my heart that nothing could fill. No! That’s not true. Something did fill that space: a sense of desolation and emptiness. The same thoughts of ‘why bother?’ and its relatives continued, except this time they were directed at me, personally, and at my life as a whole.
Over time this became my new normal, a throbbing background sense of blah. I’d lost that inner drive – that spark – which had been such a large part of my life.
I’ve come to realize that giving up is not an option, no matter how many times I slip, or how many times things don’t go quite the way I wish. Besides, my inner world is what ultimately determines my reactions and responses to outside influences.
Fear of failure, and yes, even fear of success, still cause me to stumble and fall at times, but I’ve already lived through the giving up phase and it ain’t pretty – So I choose the journey, no matter how arduous it might get.