Embracing risk and vulnerability

What if you fly?

Even after decades of working as a writer, I still get nervous sometimes. I’ve been published dozens of times yet wonder if it will happen again. Do my readers care what I have to say? Am I willing to write on a certain topic, or will I choose a safer one? Is my platform robust enough? (Note to self—it never is unless you’re Oprah.)

Maybe you hesitate to even call yourself a writer. Listen carefully: if you are writing, putting words on the page on a regular basis, you are a writer. If you have another day job, but scribble away on your novel or memoir in your spare time, you’re a writer. If you’re not yet published, even if you don’t make a living with words, I am giving you permission to call yourself a writer—if you are actually writing. (That does NOT mean you should quit your day job just yet.)

Photo by Ivan Samkov: https://www.pexels.com/

Many folks I speak to want to write. Or more accurately, they want to have written a book, in a manner akin to a couch potato wanting to run a marathon. Or rather, wanting to have run one. But the actual work and training and sweat—that’s not yet part of their life. They must first become a runner. By, you know, running.

The way to become a runner is to start running. The way to become a writer is to start writing. Build habits. Train, learn, practice. Set goals, grow. Sweat.

All of which is to risk. Writing anything at all, even something like this newsletter, requires vulnerability. But as Brené Brown observes:

“Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face every day are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection.” (from Daring Greatly)

Simply being a writer requires you to risk—especially if you’re trying to publish. It requires vulnerability. But so does simply being a human. As Brown observes, uncertainty and risk are part of life. They’re not “optional” but you can choose to grapple with your own vulnerability. To move forward in spite of the risks, in spite of your fear.

Photo by Taryn Elliott: https://www.pexels.com/

As a writer, you share your thoughts and ideas, or bring to life the stories that swirl in your mind. In other words, you engage with your own vulnerability, in Brown’s words.

 If you seek publication, you subject yourself to scrutiny. The majority of writers who seek publication will get rejected—simply because of the sheer number of writers. It’s like applying for a job, or trying to get into college—not everyone gets a yes. If you self-publish, you don’t dodge risk. Yes, you will have a book. But you will wonder if anyone will actually purchase your book. Will you connect with readers? Will you get any sort of return on your investment?

If you write a newsletter like this, you might connect with readers. You might even get new subscribers. But some folks might unsubscribe (it happens).

Countless Pinterest posts and memes share this quote from poet Erin Hanson

“There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?”

Photo by Germán TR: https://www.pexels.com/

Writing requires vulnerability—in fact, it is embracing that vulnerability that helps us connect with readers. We might fall, true. But what if we fly?

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