May 1, 2016 7:28 AM

The daily special at the Existential Crisis Cafe

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

  • Ernest Hemingway

Sometimes, it can be easy- TOO easy- to lose sight of what I have to offer the world. I’m not trying to save cancer patients like Erin does, nor am I endeavoring to solve world hunger. I’m not negotiating peace treaties. I don’t even make anything tangible; you can’t touch, feel, or pick up what I make. So what is it, really, that I have to offer the world? What do I do, I frequently ask myself, that could possibly make a difference?

I’m a writer…which sometimes feels like pretty small potatoes. I work in solitude, listening to the voice(s) in my head and trying to translate them into something coherent, meaningful, and- most importantly- interesting. I find no end of challenge in that, even as my (hyperactive) inner critic frequently questions the value and utility of what I do.

What difference do I make? Will anyone be clothed or fed? Will anyone receive medical treatment or be educated by me? What is it that I contribute? How do I make an impact? How can that be measured? DO I even make an impact? Am I asking too many silly questions?

Quite possibly.

I’m like many creative personalities- alternately beset by a creeping sense of inadequacy, an occasionally debilitating lack of self-esteem, a pronounced lack of self-confidence, and a fear that I may already be irrelevant. People don’t come beating down my door in anticipation of my next staggering work of heartbreaking brilliance and import. It’s easy to wonder what I add to the big picture- how do my presence and my work make a difference?

I suppose that depends on how we define “making a difference.”

If we look at things honestly, few of us are fortunate enough to have the skills, training, and/or passion to do something that truly makes a tangible, noticeable difference. Most of us want to make the world a tangibly, noticeably better place but lack the skills, opportunities, and connections to change the larger world with broad brush strokes. Then again, the world needs people willing to chip away at the margins with rubber mallets.

It’s not that most of us are irrelevant, but with something like eight BILLION people drawing breath on this planet, the odds are stacked against any one person standing out from the madding crowd. When I was a wee lad, I believed I’d leave this world and be remembered for making it a better place. My perhaps overly ambitious thinking led me to believe that I’d do something special, something groundbreaking, that would make a difference and leave the world a better place. That may still happen, but I’m still waiting…as I suspect are most of us.

I read something once that helped put things into perspective for me. It said that we shouldn’t worry about what others think of us…because the fact is they rarely do. Most of us are so wrapped up in our own existence that there’s little energy or space left for devoting attention to anything or anyone else. Not that people are inherently selfish or self-centered…but yes, we generally are inherently selfish or self-centered.

The lesson I’ve learned- and keep having to re-learn- is that life isn’t a competition. It’s not about keeping up with or outdoing anyone. We’re all here to do something which in the end may, but probably won’t change the world in any broad sense. Some paint with broad, sweeping brush strokes. Some work around the edges. Some tap away at a laptop keyboard hoping to write something that people will read and take to heart. The challenge is to accept what and where we are…and do whatever that is to the best of our abilities. Not everyone gets to do scientific research worthy of a Nobel Prize. There’s certainly a need and a place for those who can do those things, but the world also needs janitors and mechanics and baristas and…writers. Yes, even those of us who endeavor to string together complete and coherent sentences have a part to play.

It’s not necessarily about “making a difference,” if for no other reason than it depends on what “making a difference” means. If you’re fortunate enough to find a niche which allows you to feel fulfilled and leaves you secure in the knowledge that what you do has meaning, even if only for you…well, you’re ahead of most of humanity.

When I’m honest with myself, I understand that I’ll never cure cancer or solve world hunger. What I CAN do is to play my role in the most genuine and authentic manner I’m able. My impact on the world isn’t the product of grandiose sweeping gestures- not yet, anyway. That may (or may not) yet happen. My impact is far more subtle, understated, and anonymous. I write- perhaps not The Great American Novel, but certainly something that feels as if it has meaning and purpose. If I happen to win a Pulitzer or Nobel Literature Prize along the way, so be it.

I’m a writer. It’s what I do. It’s how I try to leave my mark on the world. Hopefully I “make a difference,” but even if I don’t in the conventional sense I can feel good that I’m doing something which feels important, as if has meaning. Because it is and it does.

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This page contains a single entry by Jack Cluth published on May 1, 2016 7:28 AM.

Beliefs don't make you "good" or "bad;" it's what you do with them was the previous entry in this blog.

Religious freedom: The right to deprive other, less deserving, people of their religious freedom is the next entry in this blog.

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