The True Self vs. The Market

PLUS reader poll time!

Photo by Carson Arias on Unsplash

When my husband and I were pretty newly married, we made the trek to Florida to visit my grandma. Back then, she was still living independently, but no longer traveled, so I was anxious for her to meet this guy I’d decided to spend the rest of my life with. It was a nice visit; we drove around her Tampa suburb and she pointed out the Scientologists (you can tell because they don’t blink!) We ate a lot of Boston Market and watched home videos. One video I remember with cringing clarity: a five-year-old me in a leotard and tap shoes. While a patient teacher led the rest of the class through a cute little number, I was doing my own peculiar dance in the corner. It involved a lot of pointer finger movement and spinning in a slow circle.

Oh God, I thought to myself, I’ve always been this weird. It’s probably incurable.

My weird little dance may have been embarrassing, but I can also appreciate it as an expression of my creativity. To quote Picasso, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” Too often, our core weirdness is eroded by the pressure to be accepted by families and peers. This only accelerates as we reach adulthood and have to save face at the class reunion by pretending we invented Post-Its.

In the last decade, Gen X’s ethos of not selling out has been conquered by the Gen Z influencer goldrush. When it feels like everyone is earning money, getting book deals, and booking national tours based on their Tiktok accounts, the FOMO is inescapable.

There’s an inherent tension in being an artist: the desire to reach others versus the impulse to honor one’s own weird compulsions. Why do I write what I write? I have to. It’s write or implode, basically. And one could, theoretically, make art in a locked room, with no plan of anyone ever seeing it. But art is also communication. Writing is a way of thinking, yes, but it’s not a complete process without at least one reader. And that’s where things get difficult. How do I balance out what others want to read versus what I want to write?

If I just wanted more people to read my humble little Substack, I would start writing some version of “One Weird Trick to Make Your Follower Growth EXPLODE!” But I also know that I started this project with the goal of getting un-stuck, spiritually. And thankfully, it’s worked. So I want to continue this project AND I want to make something that is useful to readers. What I love about this space is the chance to think about and then talk through various topics with y’all in the comments, or via email, DMs, texts, or in-person as we tromp around Seattle.

As I try to sort the me-vs.-we of it all, the topic of paid subscriptions keeps popping up. A few readers have reached out with “pledges” which feels both validating and a little scary. I’m weighing a few different options about paid content moving forward and it would be really helpful to have some reader feedback. If you have a sec, could you answer my two poll questions below? Or leave me a comment via the usual channels.

At any rate, I plan on maintaining a free, weekly posting schedule just like the one you’re currently subscribed to, no payment necessary.

I remember hearing a quote that was something to the effect of, “God gave you life. Being your truest self is what you give back to God.” (Google isn’t turning up anything, so I’ve probably mangled that quote, but I do like that sentiment.) I like to imagine an artist-god who intentionally created our weirdness and delights in its revelation, just like a proud parent filming their kid doing an odd pointer-finger dance in the corner.

Do you consider yourself an artist? What would you make if you were free from fear of judgement? Where do you feel the pressure to conform to others’ expectations?

Programming Note: I’m on vacation next week, so no post! Take the 5 minutes you would’ve spent reading and find a bird to stare at.

BONUS MATERIALS:

• Identity is how I see myself, but it’s also what you reflect back to me about who I am—a paraphrasing of Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum, in Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?

• I still think about this post by Tom Pendergast

• I loved this weird little novel and it’s pretty on-theme