One of the lessons I’ve hoped to learn through this blogging year is perspective. Successes are fleeting. Setbacks are not permanent. Worry is a useless habit.

I am striving to recognize the small things, so I can let them go. I’m working on picking better battles. I’m learning to recognize when an objective serves my ego or my soul. I’m not especially good at any of these things but I’m getting better.

What does this mean for me creatively?

I’ve learned that writing goals are only worthwhile to the extent they serve my happiness. Writing 2 hours every day sound reasonable, but not when I use the goal as a cudgel on myself when I don’t make it. I finally caught COVID a few weeks ago, which blew up my December writing plans. I would rather have avoided it, but I chugged Nyquil and watched crappy movies with zero guilt.

When goals cease to work, they need to change. In the past, word count goals served me fairly well, but now, writing a solid 200 words in thirty minutes is more fulfilling than forcing myself sit for 2 hours to type 1000 words that I’ll never use anywhere. Last year, I started tracking the time in my seat, focusing on creating quality work rather than hitting an arbitrary number of words. I’m not sure how I’ll keep myself on track in 2024. My other methods served me when I needed them, but it’s ok to switch it up.

My creative needs have also changed as I’ve gotten older. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a famous writer. I dreamed of writing books that sold well enough to let me earn my living creatively. When I was older, making a lot of money didn’t matter as much, but I still craved the validation of being published.

These days, neither of those are important to me. I still want to hold books in my hand, but I no longer need anyone else’s approval of what I write. I may publish traditionally someday, but I’m not counting on it nor spending a lot of effort pursuing it. When I do publish, I’d like to sell a few books, but again, not a priority. If my books pay earn enough to pay for my website and the costs of design and printing, that would be satisfactory. If it turned into a side income during my retirement, that would be a bonus. But I’m not relying on my creative work to provide my living. At the moment, I’m not in a position where I’d have to turn what I do for love into a grind. I hope to keep it that way. If that means I never write a bestseller or buy a fancy house or win an award, so be it.

The only reason I ever wanted them in my youth was due to what else I lacked. I’ve found and healed a lot of those missing pieces over the years, and discovered that the work is more joyful the less I expect any outside reward.

I’m late to the lesson, but if I can spend the next 30 years living closer to the moment and engaging in fulfilling creative work, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.