Permission to Wish for the Amazing, Scary Things
The one about believing in ourselves, and sharing a terrifying goal.
When I was in high school, the most popular girls — who all wore their hair shiny and straight 90% of the time — would sometimes wear their hair down in these natural looking waves (scrunched up thanks to hair gel, of course) and clipped back with a barrette. Peak early 2000s style, really. My hair was fine and pretty stick-straight growing up; curling my hair usually meant waiting to the last second to remove rollers and spraying the heck out of my hair with hairspray, and then the curls falling out 10 minutes later. Undeterred, I remember desperately trying to replicate that look. My hair would end up becoming 98% hair gel, but I’d scrunch and scrunch to try and get something — anything — resembling the popular girl hairstyle. When I would, I’d walk around school the rest of the day feeling a little bit like, I don’t know — somebody else? Someone a little bit cooler than I felt like I was on the daily, someone who at least seemed like she had to try less than I actually did. Someone I wanted to become, crunchy hair and all.
Now in my mid-30s, my hair is, ironically, naturally wavy for real, sans hair gel. It seems that version of me was always there — I just didn’t see her.
On that note, I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of not just attempting to become the people we want to be and trying to do the things that scare us or feel beyond our grasp, but also actually believing and trusting that we can be them, can do them… no matter how far away or unrealistic they may seem to us. Effortlessly wavy cool hair and beyond. The idea of giving ourselves permission to not only want the nearly impossible things, but genuinely believe they can become our reality too.
From the time I was a little girl, I loved to read and to write. I would make up stories about characters I’d draw, would submit short stories to magazine contests, and imagined myself going to journalism school. I became an English major and read books by the greatest writers in history. And any time anyone would ever ask me if I wanted to write a book of my own (which actually I got asked surprisingly often), I would resolutely say no. Absolutely not. What for?
I remember thinking that sounded like such an insane idea, writing a book. Like who gets to be an author for a living? That sounds so hard and, maybe most of all, like something only extra special people get to do.
In the last few years, something changed. Call it my mid-life crisis after my mom died, but I started hearing everyone’s voices in my head who’d ever encouraged me to write books. (Namely, my parents and my grandfather.) I could hear my mom encouraging me to just try. Just start. Then last August, right around my birthday, I did. I went to my favorite coffee shop and opened a blank Word document and started writing out this story idea that had been floating around in my brain for the last several months at that point. I was nervous and didn’t know what would come of it. (I still don’t — spoiler alert, in case you thought this was a slow build to an announcement that I got a book deal 🙃.) I kept writing, and worried I wouldn’t be able to get to 50K words or whatever you need to have a complete manuscript, but it quickly became clear I could and would. (Not there yet though!) And then I started to wonder if it was any good. If it was worth doing.
But, I’ve kept writing, and you know what? I have loved doing it. Really, truly, right down to my soul, and felt like maybe that’s what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. Even still, though, I’ve had the same thoughts as when I younger: who gets to write books for a living? That sounds so hard and like something only extra special people get to do for real.
I’ve told barely anyone that I’m doing this — not even best friends, not even my dad. I’ve also struggled to make squeezing in writing time on the book a priority in my life, letting everything else take precedence over it. I’ve battled myself to sit down and do it more than once a week, allowing myself to make excuses for why something else is more important or time-sensitive. It wasn’t until this week, after I listened to a podcast by a writer I like who recently got her own book deal that I realized why I haven’t prioritized my efforts on this project. Why I haven’t really told anyone I’m trying to make this happen. Why I’ve continued to block my own path.
The why of it is sort of embarrassing to share, but here it is: deep down, I don’t think I actually believe I can do it. Not the writing words on a page part (or at least not anymore), but the… I don’t know, being a published book author part. It all feels too lofty. Too impossible. Like a life path destined for someone else, not little ol’ me. I’m struggling to believe I will ever get an agent or a book deal or whatever all is entailed with publishing a real, live book that people can hold in their hands and that will someday sit at the library and Barnes and Noble with my name on the cover, and most of all it feels obscene to shoot for it. I’m scared this will all have been an enormous waste of time, and, maybe worse, that I’ll let everyone down who’s believed in me along the way.
Including myself.
To be quite honest, that realization has sort of surprised me. I’m confident and disciplined and an optimist most of the time. And yet being a published author feels……… out of reach. I think I have barely admitted to myself that I even want this to happen for me. And so… that’s why I’m telling all of you, right now. You’re becoming my accountability partners, whether you like it or not, because I don’t think I’ll ever believe I can do it until I’ve admitted out loud that I actually really want to be able to do this. That I want to be good at it. That more than just doing this big, scary thing, I want to actually succeed at it.
There is, without a doubt, something to be said for doing something just for yourself — just for the creativity of it, or to explore your potential. Writing a book manuscript could be just a quiet thing I do because I enjoy the practice of it, and that would and could be okay too… except deep down, I don’t want that to be all of it. I want that other life path — the one that, I suppose at the heart of it, I don’t believe I deserve.
But maybe, just maybe, like the wavy hair, it’s not that impossible. Maybe I’ll find out it’s been within me all along.
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…I guess we’ll see! In the meantime, I hope you’ll take this as encouragement to go after your own scary goals, and honest to goodness trust that you can accomplish them, if you want to.
I hope August and its sunshine are treating you well so far. If you need a good laugh, one of my favs is back for season 3: “Only Murders in the Building.” (If you have never seen this show, oh my gosh! Trust me — it’s so good.) Also, please go see the Barbie movie if you haven’t already; it’s beyond excellent. That and following the Taylor Swift Eras tour footage like it’s my #1 sport have been my whole personality for a couple of weeks now.
Thanks for reading!
Joelle
"The journey you take to reach your destination is sometimes greater than the destination itself." - Jennifer Christen
You can absolutely do this! And no matter the final result, you’ll undoubtedly discover gems along the way - about yourself, life, the world around you…and who knows what else. 💖💎✨
Gosh. I have been making endless notes and also grappling with this. Although, not in the context of writing a book. Firstly, congratulations. And secondly, you can do it! Put me down for a copy :)