The truth is, I could have called this blog "If I Don't Believe In Me...Who Will" because if I'm being completely honest, I'm really the one I'm writing this for. Oh, I could try to be altruistic or magnanimous and say I'm writing this for you or anyone having a hard time believing in themselves but it would really be just so much self-serving bullsh*t.
I'm writing this for me. And I would be lying if I said anything else. But, having said that, I'll let you in on a little secret: every self-help book, blog or whatever, written is, was and always will be written for one person and one person only. The person who wrote the book.
But to be entirely fair, I'm pretty sure that's why they resonate with so many people the way they do. When they sell, that is.
And I suppose if I'm still being totally honest, in the interest of full disclosure I should probably note here that that statement has *not* been fully researched. Okay. Not researched at all.
But it only stands to reason, if you think about it. It seems to me it would be the height of ego for someone, anyone really, to tell you how to run your life. Or, what you can do to make your life better. Truthfully, how would they know? Exactly. They wouldn't. And, neither would I. What works for one may or may not work for someone else. What works for me or doesn't... well...you get the idea.
Put another way: one of the lyrics to a great pop song from many years ago "Sunshine" said "He can't even run his own life I'll be damned if he'll run mine." So I'm not going to try. I have enough challenges in my own life and on my own plate to tell you how to run your life.
But...my self-help book is really meant to help one person: me. If I'm being honest.
So...why write a self-help book just for me, I hear you asking. It's certainly a fair question. But...if I can help one person, in this instance me, then possibly something will resonate with you and allow you to help you. Or, not. Hence the title of the book (or for now the blog).
In my more self-deprecating moments, I often feel I'm the embodiment of that old saying (old now) "I'm not completely useless: I can always serve as a bad example." Maybe more self-loathing than deprecating but anyway.
So there's a new saying or a new version of an old saying that asks the question "Why aren't you doing what you really want to be doing?" Or "What would you rather be doing...and why aren't you doing it?" Or maybe more to the point "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
But the last question is probably the hardest to answer. The first two questions are essentially the same as each other so maybe a little easier to answer. Because I'm afraid. Afraid I'll fail. Afraid I'll suck. Afraid no one but me cares.
Why aren't I doing it? That's easy: because I can't give myself permission to do it. I don't know how. So instead, I pass the buck. The big decision of my life and I can't seem to make it for myself. I don't know how to let me do what I want to do.
Instead, I want "you" to give me permission. Or at least encourage me that it's good enough that it's what I should be doing. It's what I should not just be doing but getting paid to do it.
What do I want to do? This. Write. I want to write for a living. I want to get paid for putting words on a page. I write lots of different things including fiction. And in addition to this self-help manual I want to write novels.
I've started so many stories intending to make them novels or short stories or whatever that I've lost count. But it's a compulsion. I need to write. I don't do it nearly as much as I should...and maybe if I actually could finish a novel I could publish it. But I'm always brainstorming new ideas and I keep names for books and characters and story ideas and I even sometimes design my novel's cover in my mind.
And yet...instead of following that dream...I work at Walmart selling televisions and computers making less than $11 an hour.
And still I can't give myself permission to even call myself a writer let alone actually be one or become one. Even though it's really what I want to do when I grow up.
Well. What do you know? I answered the hardest question after all.
So. Now what?
Now maybe I'll finish this book and then one of the close to a dozen fiction books/stories/ whatever I've been working on.
Yeah. Easier said than done. As it is, I'm doing this blog post on my BlackBerry instead of the computer as I'm using the computer for other stuff. Plus it's almost 4 in the morning and I need to head to bed soon. (And I've discovered I have to log on to a computer to actually edit the blog posts because my BlackBerry isn't capable of handling that and then letting me save the edits and re-publish the post so the changes take.)
So for now I'm going to try and post this and see how that goes. Then I'll take it from there.
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