My home country of Romania is last in the European Union when it comes to reading books. The book market here is the stuff of nightmares for any writer.
What do these two sentences mean?
I shouldn’t be able to do what I do. I shouldn’t have attempted it. And I don’t think that you ever gave it a thought while reading my posts.
My parents never read a single thing I wrote because my words are foreign to them. They never read my stories or novels. Odds are, they never will. They never understood my dream of becoming a writer. Nor did they encourage it. But they also didn’t try to talk me out of it. Too often.
What amuses me most about dreams is that most of the time we tend to attach a sort of vague hope to them. It’s like we spend an awful lot of time contemplating a distant future when all our dreams will come true instead of actually trying to make them come true.
But it doesn’t work like that.
I try not to regret (the things I did or didn’t do) but I can’t help but feel sorry that half my “career” as a writer was spent like this. I wasn’t writing that much, mostly because writing is kind of hard – especially when you’re just starting out and you’re worried about technical stuff, about the mechanics of writing. I suppose all aspiring writers spend more time wishing for stories to magically get written.
Most people spend their lives waiting for something to happen. When they’re happy, they’re waiting for something to ruin that happiness. They feel it, an energy of sorts, waiting around the corner to consume their smiles. When they’re sad, when they feel something is missing, they wait for something to make them smile again.
People often think of success as a singular moment. It’s not.
Think of it this way. One day you get sick and tired of always being sick and tired by the way you look. You can’t stand seeing yourself in the mirror, so you decide it’s time to go to the gym.
You work out for a day or two. What happens after that? Do you see any results? Do the people around you?
If nothing changed, are you a failure? What happened?
Do a lot of people give up because after one, two, twenty workouts, there’s still no visible change? There’s no one to acknowledge their work? What if they quit, and then start over, and then quit again, and then start again… and one day, they just keep going?
If they keep working out, going to the gym, day after day after day, and then, one day, they look in the mirror and they go like, “Wow.” And all their friends and family congratulate them on what they achieved.
Is that the moment when they became successful? Or did everything before that moment lead to the moment when everyone else acknowledged their success?
“Luck is a dividend of sweat. The more you sweat, the luckier you get.” – Ray Kroc
If you’ve been following this blog for some time, you know that I am a big advocate of perseverance. This is how I define the grind, the hustle: to keep going in spite numerous obstacles, despite all the other people who are more talented, better connected, or have more time.
To grind means to want it more than just about anyone else.