I have nothing to say
Not aloud, at least
I desperately want to be consistent.
I am pretty good at consistency. I hold myself to the standards I arbitrarily create. Folks say that if you’re going to write a newsletter, write it consistently. Write it weekly! People should expect your words to land in their inbox at the same time each week! That’s how you’ll grow! That’s how you’ll make an impact!
Maybe.
I pressure myself to show up here weekly. I used to have a daily newsletter. It lasted 317 days until one day I Forest Gump’ed and decided enough was enough, I couldn’t possibly write a daily newsletter any longer.
I desperately want to be seen and taken seriously. I want people to think I am smart. That I’m funny. That I’m insightful.
I dream of people reposting my words as if they meant something to them.
So I show up, week after week. I am nothing if not dedicated to my own word.
I rack my brain to share words with you because art is about practicing consistently, no? And some hit, while others miss (I am quickly learning that this audience isn’t big enough for threads yet…). I truck along because they say you need to keep trucking and slowly it will build over time. I have things to say and I want to say them, damn it.
Earlier this week I woke up and jotted down “Is it art or a plea to be seen?” I was thinking of my newsletter in that moment, though so much of what I do on the internet would be relevant.
A day later my friend
sent me a snippet from ’s most recent newsletter (a newsletter I read myself!):
“Only the true self can be creative and only the true self can feel real.” I’ve been thinking about these words from Donald Winnicott, a big name in the (traditional) field of developmental psychology, for weeks. Only the true self can be creative. Only the true self can feel real. Do I agree? I’m not sure. I suppose it depends on what I believe “being creative” means; what I will say, though, is this: In a world that makes it hard, often terrifying, often unsafe to be our truest selves… it’s no wonder so many feel stuck creatively, feel unsure of who they are, feel unsteady in moving toward the next stroke or word or act. When I think about the times where creative expression flows most naturally, it is the times in which I feel most myself, most alive, most real, where I feel my hands and feet and heart in motion. When I think about the times my creativity feels most stifled, it is when I am putting on some kind of performance, or thinking of an audience first, or wondering how it will be received — essentially disconnected from my truest self. Where am I mistaking performance for creativity? Where can I infuse creativity back into the places where performance is taking up undesired space? I am exploring how to stay tethered to the truest version of me when I sit down to write, or take my camera out, or cook a meal, or tend to my child. I am exploring what creativity feels like from my most vital, most honest, most alive self.
Thanks, Lisa, for articulating it better than I ever could.
We live in an attention economy. It’s easier than ever for individuals to have a platform, to be seen and heard and celebrated and accessed. In many ways, so many ways, that’s beautiful. I’ve learned from, and been transformed by, the thoughts and works of so many people I may have never discovered without the internet and these platforms.
But there’s also pressure, for me, at least, and many of my friends and contemporaries. I’ve written about this before, but the pressure to keep up and feel like you need to be writing, sharing, or creating constantly feels more like a plea to be seen more than art for me. An online presence feels necessary if you want to sell classes or sell a book or be taken seriously as a human with ideas to share.
And then, inevitably, it gets untenable. Because it doesn’t grow and I don’t monetize and I get distracted or frustrated or pulled in a different direction. I don’t often feel seen. Despite knowing better, I still have a yearning that maybe I, too, will eventually gain an audience of tens of thousands. Maybe something will go viral. Maybe I will have my big break and people will realize I have so much to say that can change their worldview. Can a Leo really quit the internet when the promise of fame is always right around the corner?
I look around at the other substacks, so many of us asking how to grow. So many writers with beautiful words and ideas. Going viral and hitting it big is not a meritocracy. It’s algorithms and connections and being at the right place at the right time in addition to the work itself.
I find it so easy to feel disheartened by the internet. The attention economy pulls us in so many directions. I am truly overwhelmed by the amount of content I consume and yet I create “content” too. It’s all too much. And yet, I want more.
I show up week after week because that’s what I am supposed to do. That’s the persistence needed to make it big. And even if I don’t, it’s the dedication to my craft. Right?
But is it? An artist doesn’t necessarily have a consistent schedule of finished work. A painting may take weeks or months or years until it’s done and ready to be shown. While practice is essential, and consistency might be the key to growth, should your practice always be publicly on display?
I’m not sure if this is an announcement that I am going to be sharing less regularly. I am not great at moderation—I either stick to the schedule or I might disappear for a while or indefinitely. And I do like having this outlet. So perhaps I will keep sharing every Thursday, or maybe give myself permission to take a week off here or there without feeling like I am not “being consistent” as I promised myself and you. It’s not like this newsletter is growing much by being consistent anyway :) So if it’s really a practice, and if the right small audience really is here to hear what. I have to say when I have to say it, perhaps being less consistent is okay, too.
Am I the only one who struggles with this?
An insightful, funny, well-written piece about not knowing what to write. Perfect. No, you're not alone. Some people make a place to write things and then never, ahem, write them. I urge you to keep going, as much or as little as you need to. I agree that consistency is key, and if keeping it weekly is what insures it happens at all, then I wouldn't back away from that. You have, my friend, a lot to say. Perhaps part of "the work" is trusting that we want to hear whatever it is you're saying at that moment. I think we do 😉
Echoing the above, dear Sara - the pressure we put on ourselves to stay relevant, topical, productive, heard is immense. Especially when writing isn’t your full time thing.
You’re not the only one who struggles with consistency (whether it’s “necessary” or not) and I don’t think anyone would begrudge your “inconsistency”. When you do have something to share, I’m joyed to read it.
I feel partly it’s the platform; Substack has exploded in even the last 6 months, and I can’t keep up with the changes 🙊 By extension, of course it’s also harder to cut through the noise or find people (again, maybe not if you’re doing it full time, but still).
No answers, but always willing to sit in the dust with friends going through it together ❤️