“…by your own words you aren’t a professional writer. Those who can’t teach. Maybe go back to teaching. If you were going to be a real writer you would have been one by now.”
Oh my. Seems I touched a nerve. Good. I like hearing this sort of thing.
Because it gives me the chance to put into practice a well worn cliché. The teachable moment.
And things of this nature are always a teachable moment. As a teacher, one has to decide what course to take in the giving of the lesson. As a writer, this is known as “knowing your audience.” Same thing as a teacher. The distinction is this:
Not all writers are teachers and not all writing is a lesson. And not all websites are what they appear.
This critic, and this person has a right to their opinion, seems to believe my self worth is tied up with being a “professional writer” or a “real” writer.
I would be lying if I said I am not interested in seeing myself in print. Any writer who says differently…well, I would ask, “What is your motive then?” And the same applies here. Because my self worth is not tied up in being “professional” in the manner in which this person ascribes. That is to say, with money. Or fame. Or acclaim.
If I never sell a word, never am published in the traditional sense, that’s fine by me. When it comes time to shuck this meat suit like a shoe that fits too tight, I will do so with a smile on my face if no one knows me but the people who already do; at least the ones I love and love me.
It would be nice to have a readership. I admit. But I don’t need it. It’s not where my self worth comes from. It isn’t where my validation comes from.
Because I know what is important. And none of that is. Not in the grand scheme of things.
Let me tell you where my self worth lies. That way, if you really want to try and insult or offend me, you at least have a shot.
My wife and I met my son and his boyfriend for dinner last night. He loves fondue and there is a fondue restaurant in downtown Portland he is very fond of. So we fond did.
As my wife and I are driving into the covered parking lot, she has to stop to get the ticket from the machine before the arm will open and allow you entry. Next to that machine, inside a tiny booth, was a woman, about 70 years old. She wasn’t looking at us. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular. She looked miserable.
And why wouldn’t she be? She’s 70 if she is 5, making minimum wage no doubt, because she has to. No one has this job unless they have to. I am looking at her intently. Wondering if she will look into our car. Hoping that she will. I am ready.
She does. I give her my 100 watt smile. The one that says, “HI THERE GORGEOUS!” The one she hasn’t gotten in decades. Because that’s how we treat old women in our society.
She sees me and is instantly transformed into a 20 something. She grins back at me. The arm lifts and we drive into the parking structure.
For just a few seconds there, she was happy. You don’t smile like that unless you are. Unless you’re an actor. I can act. I wasn’t.
That’s where I get my validation. Making the miserable smile. I’ve made the homeless laugh. Do you know how hard it is to make the homeless laugh?
Turns out not as hard as you may think. It helps if you have a 95 lbs silver Labrador Retriever as your introduction. People respond positively to love, it turns out. My dog is nothing but. I try to be like my dog.
Now that is validation.
Self worth only comes from the first word. Validation can come from many places. Remember though, when you seek validation from an outside source, you risk becoming a slave to that source. Choose wisely. Choose very wisely.
Thus endeth the lesson.
