Don't wait.
On courage, readiness and my friend Jen.
I don’t know anyone who actually enjoys waiting. But when it comes to making art, and spending time pursuing something important - though scary and vulnerable - I know plenty of artists who will joke about how easy it is to suddenly find a thousand other things to do with their time, other than making their art. We don’t necessarily equate this deferment with ‘waiting’; at best, we’re just ‘working up into it’. At worst, it’s procrastination. We know procrastinating is bad, but we seldom characterise it as a self-imposed waiting to feel ‘ready’.
What does ‘ready’ even mean?
First, a story about Jen.
I first met Jen in a Write Like a Grrrl class in January 2019, where we traded stories and gave each other feedback, and ended up realising we had completely misaligned reading preferences. I realised quickly that Jen was particular, and singular, in what she liked and disliked, and wasn’t afraid to state her opinion on such matters. While we often differed on what we enjoyed reading, we shared a love of house plants. When lockdown restrictions began to lift, she came over to my place for tea, and I gave her a bunch of my house plants that I couldn’t take with me in a move across London.
What I didn’t really know (or wasn’t fully aware of) before that afternoon tea, was that Jen had had cancer before we became friends, and during lockdown, some symptoms re-emerged. For whatever reason, I didn’t think that hard about this at the time - the cancer wasn’t the most interesting thing about her by a long shot. Given that both of us were native Sydneysiders who’d left for London and absolutely loved being in this mad city, we had so much other stuff to talk about. In particular, the trade offs that our decisions in life had generated, like having to chose between family and friends, between embracing creativity or enduring boredom, between being inspired or doing our perceived ‘duty’. A life in colour, or a life in black and white. We were both perhaps a bit dramatic that way. Because we both perceived the homes we left behind as ill-suited to us, and we were both determined to be published authors someday. We felt London understood us, somehow, in a way Sydney did not. We had a lot to say about these issues, which meant our conversations often lasted for hours and hours.
This week, I was devastated to learn that Jen passed away, a few weeks shy of her 37th birthday.
The courage to do something difficult and risky.
No art ever came out of not risking your neck. And risk - experiment - is a considerable part of the joy of doing, which is the lone, simple reason all writers of serious fiction are willing to work as hard as they do.
- Eudora Welty
Jen is a published author. She self-published her debut novel Rebel Rebel, and released an album, even while enduring radiotherapy and countless other complications. Jen and I had lunch the afternoon before her sight disappeared altogether. Even with the insanity (and injustice) of what was happening, she was determined to ensure her work went into the world. I am not sure Jen would have liked me to describe her as ‘courageous’ - she might have dismissed me as using another annoying euphemism that people with cancer often endure - but I still happen to think that she was. Sorry not sorry, my dear Jen.
The courage and singular focus it takes to make anything and share it with the world is an integral part of every artistic journey. My friend embodied this appetite for risk, and it was from Jen that I first heard of an unlikely but quintessentially courageous goal: Aiming for 100 rejections in a year. Jen told me about this goal of hers and at first I really didn’t get it - why would you want to put yourself through that? But as I’ve gone on in this journey, it becomes clear to me that your courage is a muscle that must be worked. You don’t just become courageous or indifferent to risk. The risk never subsides. You simply gain a tolerance and an appetite for doing difficult things.
The author Henry James proposed three questions to ask of an artist's work:
What was the artist trying to achieve?
Did he or she succeed?
Was it worth doing?
(From Art & Fear by Bayles & Orland)
I have spent a lot of time waiting to feel like I have everything I need to take the next step. And I consider myself fairly courageous. But the lie of ‘readiness’ will get in the way, even for the most courageous of folk. There is no ‘ready’. If it’s worth doing, there is no way around it. There is just doing stuff and then seeing how it feels. So the question here (to make it more ‘present’) is: Is it worth doing?
If so, might be time to take a risk.
The strength to take a stand, and stand by it.
If you want to achieve anything in this world, you have to get used to the idea that not everyone will like you.
– Simon Sinek (a quote I learned from Jen’s blog, The Cancer Chronicles)
I have often been an irritating people pleaser. That’s not unique to me - many people are agreeable, because that’s what it takes to be part of a society, a lot of the time. But there are moments when this tendency - to do what others might prefer - is a big old fucking waste of time. I don’t want to mince words here, because I’m sad and I miss my friend: every time you sacrifice what you think is the right way to make something, or do something, because of someone else, you’re sacrificing your own time. Not theirs.
Let me unpack a bit here. I often feel like I’ve gone about things due to the advice or opinions of others, when I knew in my heart of hearts that I preferred to do things another way (or that they were simply wrong). It wasn’t a waste to learn this lesson, but it is a lesson hard won: you often end up having to double back and redo things the way you knew you ought to have done them in the first place. That’s often the cost of wanting to keep the peace.
Something I especially admired about Jen was that, even though she was very aware of what her cancer would likely mean for her future and how much time she had, she refused to sacrifice her vision. We had a lot of conversations about her process of editing her book, and arranging cover art, etc. Jen was 1. An optimist and 2. A creative with clear vision. I know the word ‘perfectionism’ gets bandied about as a bad thing sometimes, but in many cases, doing things the way you feel are right for your art isn’t perfectionism. It’s aesthetic judgement. Jen had aesthetic judgement and she refused to compromise it. Even if it led to some tricky conversations.
This returns me to our initial bonding moments, disagreeing about books. Even though I recall us out and out fighting about what we liked/disliked, we’d put it aside and carry on talking. The fact that we had strong opinions was a big part of our friendship. Knowing Jen, seeing her operate, made me feel better about leaning into this element of my own persona. The person who sticks their heels in, stands their ground, and defends their vision of what is good art. There is not point wasting time pretending otherwise.
An awareness that your time is finite and precious.
Why do we wait to feel ready? Is it because we view our lives as long, our time as infinite? If we aren’t ready now, maybe we tell ourselves that we might be someday. There might come a day when feelings change - when we feel comfortable. But when will that time come?
I want to quote something here from Jen’s blog:
I thought I’d tell you about this weird thing I do sometimes – I do a lot of weird things – where I ask myself ‘Am I alive?’ I ask it to myself in the mornings sometimes, or in the evenings, or at various times through the day. Just whenever I think of it. Sometimes I write it on a post-it note and when I walk past it, I ask it to myself. Am I alive? I sit or stand there for a moment, and I really think about it. Am I?
I have personally struggled often in my life with depression and anxiety. I have known what it feels like to start doubting the answer to this question that Jen is asking. A lot of the time, my doubt and confusion came from the very thing that was holding me back: Waiting. Meanwhile, time went on passing by. Things are still happening around me. What is it that I was waiting for, really? Was it for things to become clearer, easier, more secure, more stable, more obvious…? And what would that even mean?
Another Jen quote:
This is the time for me to do the things, make the memories, live my life as absolutely full and rich and adventurous as I’m capable of doing. Yes, I will probably end up doing more than I’m capable of, but I also often find I can also do a lot more than I think I can…. I can’t wait until I’m feeling ‘better’ because it might never come. What other excuses do we use not to do the things? Oh, I need more training, I need more experience, I’m just not ready yet, I’ll do it when I… But these days are the days of our lives.
Very Joan Didion quote, who when asked why she used her good silver every day simply replied, “Every day is all there is.”
And finally…
Platitudes about courage and strength and whatnot probably wouldn’t have been Jen’s cup of tea. We disagree about some things still, I guess. But our conversations about creativity helped me shape a lot of my opinions on the matter of doing this kind of work in the world - of what it takes to do it, and do it well. Jen said of her own life that it was ‘one great love story’. I can only hope to live by her example.
To that earlier question about being truly alive, Jen had an answer:
I look for one thing that tells me that yes, I am alive. I really, truly am.
So, here’s the question: Are you alive? If yes, you have your answer.
Don’t wait.
I love you Jen, and I’ll miss you.
Read more about Jen here.