A Thought Towards "Doing"

Oh, so strange how our own brains can be our biggest enemies.


Our own thoughts work against us so mysteriously and yet so obviously. You'd think it would seem clear when we're being self-deprecating, self-discouraging, despondent, hand-feeding our insecurities, telling ourselves what we can't do before we've even tried to do it. 


I, however, am about to call us all out on something. I'll tell you why we do this, why we don't call our old professors and ask them for advice, why we don't apply for jobs that seem above us, why we don't ask questions because we're afraid of looking unintelligent or silly: because it's easier to sit around in self-loathing and refuse to face a challenge. If we can assume at first step that we are walking directly through the door marked "failure," we are probably going to sit down or, more realistically, lay down, eat something sugary, and wallow in the unbearability of it all.


Even though this tends to be easier in the sense that it requires a lot less effort, less determination, probably less hygiene and more reruns, it certainly feels a lot shittier than going out, attempting, and getting turned down. Getting rejected only means that there is something else for you, something more suitable, more enjoyable even, more fulfilling. Frankly, it doesn't hurt to believe this, or better, in terms of needing a sense of motivation.


So what to do? How do we stand up to ourselves, to our negative energies and fears, and just do something about it? ...Well? Assuming that we start by doing something, why not ironically opt for the one avenue that always made you laugh, not hysterically but knowingly, at the absurdity of its lack of possible turn-out. For me, that happens to be writing directly to the editors of several (hundred) magazines for which I would be honored to be a contributing writer. 


A letter to the editor. I know. Not to the office manager, someone's assistant, not the editor of a specific section. The editor-in-chief. The top of the board. Essentially, because WHY NOT, and even though my obnoxious mind tends to imagine an endless stack of mail that he/she would never even discover, due to its sheer volume or because the interns are assigned to shred it and use it for office party confetti, I am doing it anyway. I am writing 60+ cover letters, all individualized for editors who I have researched, read about, and learned their job history. Not because I think (though I can hope) they will all call me begging me to start tomorrow, that I can name my own pay and have my own office (THIS IS WHAT DREAMS ARE FOR. MAKE THEM WHAT YOU WANT.), but because I can try it, and see what happens. There is something simply empowering about doing something that intimidates you or seems like a stretch so far you can't see the opposite end of it. Do it anyway. Do it intentionally. Do it and fight your inner critic, the little man in red on your shoulder you finds you pathetic or ordinary or unworthy. Toss your own pitchfork aside and start doing. There is no one there to stop you, no wall or excuse that isn't self-created.  


Updates on sent letters, received responses, and empty space to come.