I have a confession: I like watching weightloss shows. You can’t really eat ice cream while watching people work their butts off to lose dozens of pounds. But the real draw is in witnessing the awakening of these people. People who have clearly made excuse after excuse over the years who are finally realizing that it’s going to take some work and sacrifice to get where they want to go. There are always some, however, who don’t give it their all… who find new excuses… who waste a golden opportunity to achieve something they’ve wanted all their lives. I get so frustrated watching them.
But I find myself in that very club. I may have lost my weight–and I’m proud of that–but I’m wasting a different golden opportunity every single day. It’s my own reality show I call Life. I dream of changing my lifestyle –for me and my family. I dream of leaving the 9-to-5 world behind and writing on my terms. I have a remarkably clear vision of what that looks like… yet I’m not really taking the steps to get there.
What — do I think it’ll just happen? Like magic? You can’t even win the lottery unless you buy a ticket.
It’s funny. I’ve gone to great lengths to figure out the plan: how long I need to work a traditional job, what kind of deal I’d need to strike with a publisher, which bills need to be paid off, how much needs to be in savings, what personal decisions need to be made — all in order to begin the lifestyle I envision.
But it’s sort of hard for someone to publish my books, sort of hard for lots of people to buy them, sort of hard for a big studio to buy the rights to them, and sort of hard to get contracted for the subsequent series of vast successes if I don’t actually complete and submit a book or two.
The excuses are plentiful: I have a husband, I have a son, I have a job, the home office is a mess, the stinkin’ handyman hasn’t called back, I’m tired, there’s a weightloss show on…
A friend and colleague of mine–who’s published several books by the way–said the secret to his success was… (I waited for his trick, his recipe quite anxiously over lunch one day)… his secret was… work. He said he set his alarm clock for 5:30 a.m., rolled out of bed and wrote for a couple hours before work every single day (and most nights, too, if I recall). He said there were some days he was so tired that he actually wished–in those early, dark moments of the day–that he wouldn’t live to hear the damn alarm clock. But he got up anyway. And wrote. Why? If I may quote him: “Because I was determined,” he said with an almost evil look in his eye.
Magic indeed.