On Delusional and Naive Goals
Writing about writing is a peculiar exercise. It’s meta. It’s the writing prompt that’s given to a student or an “aspiring writer” who can’t think of anything better to write about. Unfortunately— it’s rather useful. Writing is a tool to clarify thinking, so I’ll be damned, because thinking often needs to be clarified.
If I’ve set out for an audacious goal that remains broad, like the ridiculous idea of ‘being a writer,’ I haven’t necessarily established the parameters for the target. Do I want to be a screenwriter? Do I want to write ad copy? Do I want to be a journalist? Do I want to write books? Do I want to be a speechwriter? Do I simply like the written word and I want it to be the focus of my career? What about the spoken word? How interested am I in rhetoric? Do I hope to be like the ancient Romans who could speak concisely and awe crowds with the craftsmanship of language?
If I’m setting out to ‘be a writer,’ it’s fair to assume that I want an audience to see my work and engage with it in some way. Maybe I’d like them to be entertained or inspired. Maybe I’d like the work to elicit an opinion. Maybe I want the words simply be helpful and make some life process easier. Nonetheless, if I want to make a career as any sort of writer, someone will have to pay attention for some reason — even if the words aren’t attached to my name.
To write words for the sake of being seen is different than just writing words. Being seen isn’t for the sake of keeping a journal, tracking thoughts, indiscretions, or taking notes of dietary choices. (Though it’s useful and therapeutic to journal or write for the sake of writing.)
But where is the audacious goal going? One must separate the idea of the goal from the work itself. If the goal is broad — I want to write — than that undefined goal could branch out into a number of possibilities that would meet the criteria. Maybe the goal’s broad definition is in its best interest for the time being, because working towards the broadness allows the chiseling away of which concrete direction to take.
In other cases, if one creates a goal too large and concrete, heavens knows it’ll be much more difficult to get there. The goal might not have been created with clarity. If I claim that ‘I want to write books,’ then yes, maybe one day it will be tangible and realistic to have book writing as a goal. But as of today, what do I know about researching a topic in order to write a book on it? When did I prove I’m a capable enough writer? Do I have the discipline or mental capacity to sit for hours on end staring at a computer? Who says I have anything worth saying that others would pay to read? Maybe I just want to write shorter work and not sit for the long haul of a book? As George Orwell said, “Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.” Even if I could wrestle with the bout of illness or the demon, do I work well enough with living creatures — people — to be ok with them editing the exhausting struggle I just endured? Am I confusing my want to write for a want to write books?
Goals are complicated. If you aren’t careful, creating a goal too large and too early will leave you demoralized. You’ll likely fail to see it through. And if the goal isn’t resting on anything that you care about, instead it’s what your parents or your sibling or your teacher or your boss or society said you should pursue, how will you ever hit the target?
The work has to be something you intrinsically want to do. Something you might do just for feeling the relief of having done it. I run and have this sort of process for why. I jokingly think it’s a sacrifice to the gods as atonement for my sins.
There are plenty of exercises that would help me more closely resemble a magazine man, and maybe you could make the argument that I’m lazy and don’t want to try new exercises. In a year from now I could even change my mind and decide that I no longer want to run and that I want to power lift. But for now, none of that matters. After I run I feel like I accomplished something. Some sort of intrinsic progress. What comes of it? Where will goals clarify themselves the longer I run? I’m not sure. But those are answers for the future. For now, I embrace the challenge and continue on.
The same can be said about writing. The same can be said about your interests and aims. The idea isn’t to eliminate goals, because they’re useful. And some might be in our heads but stored away for the proper time when they can be achieved. But the idea is to continue on with our pursuits, doing them every day that we’re capable of doing them, and trusting that as the days goes on and the work takes place, clarity toward which direction the goals should go will appear as well.
Otherwise, how likely am I to create a delusional and naive goal that isn’t based on fact? Or maybe I don’t understand myself well enough to realize that said goal isn’t even something I care about? If I create goals toward the wrong effort, I only cause wasted time and future frustration.
So, what was the point of a meta writing exercise where I wrote about writing? The point that I’ve found is to do what calls you, as best as you can, as often as you can, and in as many ways as you can. Trust that the muse (the work), will show you where you need to go next. As Plutarch said, “Fate leads him who follows it, and drags him who resist.”
