I don’t run to look like this:
But neither do I run to feel like this (because it really doesn’t happen):
Instead, I run to see home in the distance, to know there is a shower and a couch ahead, to put one hopeful foot in front of the other if only to keep momentum going, if only because–for the time being–it is my sole purpose.
Likewise, I don’t write (in pursuit of publication) to receive something that looks like this:
But neither do I write to feel like this (although sometimes, pathetically, I do):
Rather, what pushes me and inspires and drives me is something like this:
Instead, I write to see publication in the distance, to know there is a byline and a contributor copy ahead, to put one hopeful word in front of the other if only to keep momentum going, if only because–for the time being–it is my sole purpose.
We know we love something–or maybe we know we’ve found our special purpose*–when we’ll happily fail at it, when we’ll gladly sweat and struggle and stumble and still take those sad uncertain steps toward an end that is somewhere around the corner.
Find the thing you’ll happily fail at, the thing you can botch and blunder, flop and flounder, and return to over and over as if the end is just ahead.