Write, Edit, Live: Your Arduous, Irreplaceable Journey
Ruins of Convent of San Anton, outside of Castrojeriz, Spain
When I packed my corporate existence into a storage unit and strapped on the backpack of freelance editing and copywriting, my desire was (and remains) to apply my ever-accumulating technical skills and life experience to things that really matter to me.
Foremost in my mind were two ambitions:
Empower people to resonate deeply and clearly when they communicate.
Encourage deeper insights into the self, to help people to more richly encounter themselves along with readers.
These and every idea I’ve had concerning what editing services to offer and what sorts of clients to work with are underwritten by three simple convictions:
Everyone’s life is uniquely precious
Sharing our stories matters to personal and collective flourishing
Communicating well is hard but revelatory when we dig into the work of doing it well
Ironically, the biggest struggle I encounter as a freelancer is to keep believing in the convictions with which I hope to empower others.
As Radiohead might say, my ambitions are a nice dream. When I took my first steps into the wilderness of self-employment, I imagined, but didn’t properly grasp, how tough it would be to forge my path. I particularly failed to take into account the fact that, regardless of how often “dreams” are indulged in lip service, when the rubber soles hit the road, both the outer world and my inner one respond with crossed arms and an aggressive “why don’t you turn around and march on back to where you came from.”
Again, I should have expected this; it’s only upon reflection that I appreciate what Dan and Chip Heath wrote about how hard change can be. I also remember reading about a psychological study which asserted that monumental stress comes with trying to alter one’s station in life.
Did I really think it would be as simple as buying the proverbial pushcart and nailing to it the proverbial shingle, Ultreya Editorial: traveling editor for hire? That can’t be the case; I know what hard work is, little has come easily to me since I finished high school, and I’ve experienced plenty of setbacks and disappointments in life.
No, if anything, I think that when I decided to start freelancing I fell into the trap of thinking
The surprise that accompanies the difficulties I’ve faced is my ever-increasing awareness of the inside work I need to do to build conviction and resilience in the face of adversity, indifference, and doubt. Indeed, as I continue my pilgrimage,
Instead, as I already alluded, this journey of becoming an empowering fellow traveler for writers and professionals on their journeys of writing and connection is more and more about believing that I matter and I have something worth saying, contributing, experiencing. And really embracing the idea that no one but me can be me; do what I do; provide what I provide.
I learned some bad lessons growing up. A lot of people warned me—not always through words—never to step out into my life: parents, professors, moral authorities, unfaithful friends and partners I made the mistake of giving my heart to, superiors at jobs. Some of the profoundly destructive things I’ve been told include that I am cursed; that I am a non-quantity; that I am not enough. But as I have aged I have found that more effective and persistent in crushing my enthusiasm than any word some other person can say to me (or action they can take toward me) has been the quiet, judging glare of the guardian at my internal gate. With a mere look of disapproval or doubt, that part of me can nail my feet to the floor. And the time is long past when I can credibly attribute this inner influence to any outside person or situation, for plenty of people over the years have given me love, encouragement, and praise (including some of the same people I named above, like my family!).
So as I said, this wild adventure of trying to create a small business, one that arises not from any outside command, but instead from my own God-given passion, personality, and verve, has helped me to appreciate how deeply compromised I am by parts of myself. And something I take odd delight in is how this awareness galvanizes my determination to see my journey through to its end. It proves to me that I am coming more fully into myself at last, which will have the delightful, added benefit of empowering me to more richly empower my clients, because I will know thoroughly what it is like to be in helpless spaces and also to clamber out of them.
Very little comes easily to me, and I choose these days to receive this as a form of strength.
Well, let me amend that. Plenty comes easily to me—like editing, for instance, thanks in part to my freakish eye for detail—but my mind and body, for reasons I’ll keep to myself, are perpetually sabotaged by confusion and distraction…and I am working on trusting that these conditions are actually part of my strength as a human, friend, partner, and professional. In the meantime, though, it is hard; when often I can’t seem to focus on the road to see where I am going, or when my legs are aching as if I’ve been walking all day, but I look up and seem to see the same road sign I passed six hours earlier.
This essay, for instance, I am trying to write for the sixth time. I first began it a month ago, but over and over I couldn’t discern where it was going…where I needed to go inside of it. What in me was trying to get somewhere, where did that thing need to travel, and what parts of the journey might matter to readers?
It feels important, in order to establish my inner condition and motivations, to mention that in an earlier iteration, I was going to focus on professional setbacks and the perceived indifference (hostility?) of the publishing establishment to the freelancers of the world. In short, I was going to vent my spleen about all of the outside things making this sojourn difficult for me.
I was going to mention all of the earnest, polished letters of inquiry I’ve sent to publishers, and how only one of them has ever been acknowledged (I thank that publisher from the bottom of my heart). I especially wanted to highlight the toxic negligence which our socioeconomic status quo encourages, which was exemplified for me one day in a publisher’s webpage which eagerly invited freelancers to apply, only to immediately respond with a gotcha email which shames such applicants for bothering (since the publisher already has a closed pool of editors, duh).
In some of these draft essays, I tried to build out from these complaints in order to sketch a map that would make sense for me of the tragic mundaneness of “We don’t have time to treat people like people.” I thought this phenomenon might make sense in a larger psychogeographical kingdom of scarcity. Under the sway of the rules of this land, opportunity is weaponized, and most reasons we give for not extending an opportunity (that is supposedly under our personal jurisdiction and which we somehow have every right to) are excuses fueled by the conviction that there is not enough to go around. It becomes not just easy but a matter of pride and survival to say and do things that amount to, “We don’t care about you, and you are a nuisance, and you are a threat. Now get away from what is mine before I start to become mean.”
I tried and failed in these earlier drafts to articulate a sort of economic fall of the Roman Empire, and I attempted to compare our modern business landscape to the multitude of barbarian opportunists who, instead of learning from Rome’s example, swept into the vacuum to try and recreate from the ruins what Rome had already failed to accomplish.
But all of these drafts kept petering out, and my frustration kept skyrocketing, until today, when I finally realized that this is not about the world around me.
Like I already said, it’s about the world inside me, and how the geography of that landscape informs how I respond to the outer one.
All of this brings to mind a different comparison: life in Europe in the 14th century. For the historically inclined, there is an interesting book about this period by Barbara W. Tuchman, called A Distant Mirror.
What I remember most vividly about that book is all the opportunity and growth Tuchman describes as having risen from the 14th century’s ashes. I wonder how many people at the time had the hope and tenacity to peer through the clouds for a glimpse of what might be good about the 1300s. I’m sure it was hard. Today, it’s stunning and inspiring to think how much transformation occurred as a direct result of all that historic adversity.
What it comes down to for me is that I choose abundance…because I’ve discovered there’s power in how I receive and respond to life, and because I’ve already experienced enough of the corrosive notion of scarcity to last a lifetime.
I choose abundance, and I choose to receive my difficulties, as a freelance editor and otherwise, as opportunities and not impediments. I choose to keep striding along my path, wherever it takes me.
I know there are others on this road who also embrace abundance. Hell, quite a few of them are my fellow freelance editors, and spending time roaming the countryside with them has already been an abundantly enriching experience. It is amazing to see how generous people are here in the wilderness.
And there are all of the writers who earnestly seek to tell stories and connect, who will need company, assistance, and encouragement making their own way through an often-hostile landscape.
And there are the good-hearted publishers I have yet to encounter who I know are doing good work to empower more storytellers and who will benefit from my helping hand, along with the publishing house I’ve already had the privilege of working with.
If I were ever to quit, I know exactly where I’ll end up. But if I keep going, I thrill to imagine where the road will take me.
I had to work very hard to get my attitude to this place, and I know the journey will continue to be hard. But I am making progress, and I believe I can help others do so, too.
You matter. Your presence matters. Your participation matters. Your story matters. Please don’t ever forget it (and don’t let me forget, either).
Ultreia et suseia, querido peregrino – Onward and upward, dear pilgrim.