Do it anyway

What rock stars taught me about the writing life

My husband and I love live music and have seen hundreds of shows in the twenty-five years we’ve been together—especially since becoming empty nesters. Lately, as the musicians age along with us, I find myself wondering what it must be like to perform the same music year after year. With few exceptions, every band we see shows up and gives it their all.

What happens when their stomachs hurt? Or they didn’t sleep well? Or they’re in a fight with their spouses or bandmates? How do they go out there every night and play like they’re ecstatic to be there, even when they’ve performed the same songs thousands of times to different audiences in different cities for weeks on end?

Obviously I’m not a rock star, and I’m definitely not making rock-star money. But these hard-working musicians have inspired my writing practice.

I used to put off writing, waiting for the right circumstances—long blocks of time, inspiration, the right equipment. I had to feel like it.

Now, I try to show up every day, regardless of all those factors, and write anyway.

When I’m anxious, depressed, overwhelmed, worried, or stressed. Whether it’s raining, sunny, windy, foggy, chilly, or hot. When I have an unstructured free day or can only squeeze in fifteen minutes. If I’m alone at home, flying on a plane, or waking up in a hotel on a work trip.

When the world’s falling apart around us. When it’s just as easy to get distracted and downhearted by all the noise, negativity, and fear.

Whether I love what I’m writing, have no idea what’s going to happen next, or feel deflated by critical feedback.

I try to show up anyway, even if it’s just putting one idea down on the page. Usually, one idea leads to another—enough to get me unstuck. Before I know it, I’m in the zone.

When not to do it anyway

That said, I’m also learning to spot the signs that I shouldn’t push myself. That instead of forcing myself to show up, I should make space to rest.

I tend to push hard, and I suffered severe burnout ten years ago. Healing from that has required me to pay attention to my energy and mood, to sense when it’s time to take a break.

For me, some signs include:

• Self-loathing, the encroaching feeling that I suck and can never do anything right

• Mental exhaustion, the overwhelming sensation that everything is excruciatingly hard

• Hatred of my project, the sickening worry that my entire manuscript is terrible and off the rails

When I feel any of these malignancies coming on, I give myself a reprieve. Read a book, take a hike, spend time with friends. Usually after a day or two, my brain is happy again and I’m back in the saddle, ready to keep moving forward.

Showing up is the practice. But so is knowing when to step away. The musicians I admire most are the ones who keep playing, year after year, because they learned how to pace themselves for the long haul.