Writing Ruined My Life
The decision to turn away from a promising career as a city manager was the most disruptive choice I have ever made. I had plans to work from city to city, earning a healthy pension and enjoying the rest of my life in solitude. Deciding to commit to a career as a professional writer ruined my career plans, shattered my preconceptions about the people around me, and humiliated me by pulling the veil on countless delusions I relied on throughout high school.
Writing has been a closet passion since high school. Prior to founding the writing club at my old high school, I churned out some amateur philosophical reflections and a handful of crappy stories inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, Cry Reads and Creepypastas. My budding passion for writing was on the sidelines, however. I was bent on becoming a known man, a Gatsby who everyone talked about. I convinced myself that the best way to do this was by embracing my introversion, speaking few words, dressing impeccably, and separating myself by being completely immersed in my private thoughts.
I wanted to be a step apart from everyone around me, having given in to the delusion that someone like me was bound to be unlovable when seen beneath the surface. This left me with a sense of bitterness toward people I never met, and I found justifications for my solitary mindset in the works of Ayn Rand. I resigned myself to pursue the force of will characteristic of Nietzsche’s Übermensch, dreaming that I would one day sit in a government office, offsetting my soft-spoken demeanor with the weight of my words and the finality of my decisions.
While this goal was obviously delusional and misguided, I was able to put it into practice with surprising results. During this time in my life I started distancing myself from most connections, managed a thriving academic life with rigid determination, and gained a reputation as something of a ghost. Nobody bullied me, nobody spent much time mocking me, and I was still constantly paranoid about the thoughts people had about me. I wanted people to love me, fear me, something that would reassure me that I was a force of my own.
During this time, I was writing prolifically, but I never shared my work with more than a few people. No, that was sure to expose my thin skin and that would hurt my reputation. I was clearly in an unhealthy state of mind, and it was in that state of mind that I began to pursue volunteer opportunities with the city of Gilbert, AZ. I began gaining confidence that I could have my influential career as a city manager. Although the fantasy of power was now cut down when I realized the endless responsibilities public servants have, I would have a chance to serve as a chief administrator in cities around the United States. I would be important, if not indispensable.
Around this time, writing began to make its appearance. Before I even volunteered for Gilbert, I had a chance in Junior year to be a part of my high school’s first creative writing club. I took it, even though my nerves were screaming when I gave a speech on weak knees to an audience of new club members. I tied with my opponent for President, and we decided to operate the club as Co-Presidents. My fate was sealed, but I didn’t know it.
Cue the workshops, my first true love. I would draft stories just to have them read in the workshops, and I found confidence I didn’t think I would ever feel. Come Senior year, the club was in a state of stagnation. I like to think that I gave it my best shot, but workshops were rare, and membership declined. The most important thing to me was the realization that most of my preconceptions about other people were entirely wrong. Fortunately, I was able to engage in workshops in an Intro to Creative Writing course and I dove at every opportunity to provide feedback when I wasn’t scribbling notes.
This passion for writing and helping others write awakened a creative impulse that bled into my academic life and my emerging social life. I joined the new Speech and Debate team. I fell in love with a girl who saw more in me than I ever had. In my private thoughts, I was still determined to pursue a life of humble prominence as a public servant. Eventually, the motivation changed. Now I wanted to earn a pension to ensure a comfortable retirement for my girlfriend and myself. Now I wanted to nurture my friendships and become a bigger person than I believed I could ever become.
Where was writing in all of this? It worked its way into my college plans. I was going to graduate from college and earn a nice pension. In my retirement I planned to begin a writing career. I was naive to think that I would be free from the grip of writing.
I’m currently wrapping up a BA in Government. Initially, I enrolled in a double minor in professional writing and philosophy. When I found out that I could cut corners to graduate early, I cut the writing minor and made plans to earn a Master of Public Administration. Two degrees, four years. I took on two internships in political campaigns, and I made plans to take on a city government internship before graduating with my BA. I took on a job as a content writer at my school’s blog and fell in love with the position.
Suddenly, I began doubting my career plans. I first wanted to teach philosophy, and suddenly I was looking into degrees and asking professors questions about ethics, metaphysics, and epistemology degrees. One day, my girlfriend gave me a call on the phone at work after I’d helped edit an essay for her sister. She pushed me and asked if writing or editing was something I’d like to do professionally, and I rattled on about pensions and savings and retirement. She wasn’t buying it, and neither was I.
Now, I’ve enrolled again in my professional writing minor. I’ve been doing my best to learn what I can about the business of writing. I’ve been uncharacteristically confident in the months since that call from my girlfriend. Writing ruined my life. That’s one of the best things that has happened to me. If you’re as hesitant as I was, I recommend you let it ruin your life too.
