This is an awkward week to return to blogging with a post called “Embracing the Future,” but the dismal state of American politics aside, every day is a good day to become the self you wish to be. Our collective future may rely on forces beyond our control, but we still have the chance to direct our own.

Lately – meaning the past year or two – I’ve given myself permission to be the writer I always wanted to be, someone who wrote every day and talked to a community of writers and finished manuscripts. Not every project has borne fruit, but I haven’t given up. I’ve kept studying and digging and working, and I’m having fun and feeling more fulfilled, despite what anyone else may or may not see. I’m closer to “becoming” than I’ve ever felt.

Permission is often overlooked as an element of the creative mindset, but it’s especially important for writers. Unlike singing or playing an instrument, no one can hear us practice. Unlike physical arts, it’s difficult to show the work in progress. And the end result requires effort from the audience. No one will ever accidentally read your story, the way they might hear a new song or glimpse a painting. We need to give ourselves permission to ask for their attention.

I struggled with this for a long time. I found it impossible to turn down invitations, lest they dry up. Asserting that “I’m writing a novel” sounded pretentious. I never lit on a concept cool enough to satisfy what I imagined others wanted from me. I never made the jump from “I want to be a writer” to “I’m a writer.”

Strangely enough, it was my non-creative job writing that helped me get past it. A number of years ago, I was a news writer specializing in U.S. federal government policy and financial matters. I entered that job cold. I had zero background writing government news, but I’m a good writer and soon my intermittent gig work turned into a parttime contract job which turned into a fulltime hire. Still, even after several years in the role, I never considered myself an expert on any of these topics. I’d never worked for the government, never written policy, never managed a contract. I reported about people who did those things, but I wasn’t one of them.

But one day, an executive tried to convince me that I was an expert. I read and wrote in my field 8 hours a day. Nearly half of my job was reading and digesting policy, regulations, and law, and the other half was reframing it for our audience, none of whom had the time at work to keep up with the amount of information that comes out of government on a daily basis. I never had to put any of these rules into practice, but few people in our industry spent as much time as I did keeping track of them.

It took some convincing, but eventually, I started writing more analysis and white papers. I wrote predictive articles making connections between congressional action and eventual regulation. I’m not too humble to brag that I hit a few home runs with the C-suite.

It started with giving myself permission. I accepted that I was an expert in my field and started writing like it. And it felt amazing. I carried that permission with me when I started a podcast that blended news and analysis and when I changed jobs and began writing about niche government contract law, neither of which I’d done before.

Eventually, I gave myself that permission in my creative work and on this blog. I still struggle with it. I question why I should blog about writing topics, with my scant publishing resume, but then I remind myself that I read in my field every day. I research. I study. If that was good enough for federal law and regulation, it’s good enough for a topic I actually care about.

In a recent episode of her podcast on DIY MFA, Gabriela Pereira talks about acting “as if” as a way to overcome creative doubts and accomplish our greatest work. She differentiates “as if” from “fake it ‘til you make it,” noting that none of us are faking it. We’re not frauds. We may not have reached the fully creative state that we envision. Maybe we aren’t writing consistently or our skills aren’t as developed we’d like. Maybe we don’t have the audience we want. But we are still writers. And to realize our creative visions, we don’t have to fake it. We can act as if we are already living the creative life we desire.

Writers write, even amid distractions and especially when they don’t feel like it. Writers share what they’ve learned, even if they haven’t mastered the lesson. Writers talk to and appreciate the audience they have, even if they have closer to 20 followers than 20,000.

If you’re struggling with imposter syndrome, give yourself permission. Ask yourself what you’d be doing if you were the bestselling writer or popular game developer or beloved poet that you imagine and then do those things. Write. Start your blog. Record a podcast. Talk about your work. Offer to help someone else.

You may have a reason why you shouldn’t. Do it anyway. Act first and let your mindset catch up. Eventually, you’ll forget why you made all that fuss in the first place.

 

Who am I?