Once upon a time I believed that in
order to be a successful author I had to work eighty hours a week. I thought I
had to sacrifice my free time, my health, and my relationships to make it big.
THE GOAL became everything. I learned
how to function on four hours of sleep. I gave up reading for pleasure. I
surrendered hobbies. I didn’t take vacations. I worked and worked and worked
and worked.
I would look around at other
writers who did not share my work ethic, and feel sorry for them because they
didn’t have what it took to make it big.
And then I
hit the New York Times bestseller list.
Friends and
family were calling, wanting to take me out to celebrate. I got flowers and
cards and presents. I had finally achieved the pinnacle of writerly success.
And it was
the loneliest time of my life.
Because
nothing had changed.
I’d spent
twenty years chasing the dream, but I was exhausted, in physical pain, worried,
and anxious. I could not celebrate. I was on deadline. There were revisions due
on another book, line edits on a third book, galleys on a fourth. The dishes
were stacked in the sink and the laundry hamper was full. I needed a haircut, a
manicure and a massage but didn’t have the time.
And the money hadn’t come in yet.
My bank account was shockingly low, even as family and friends assumed I was
rolling in dough.
I was a
hamster on a wheel and there was no way to get off. I had to keep running and
running and running.
And then I
crashed and burned.
Big time.
No one
besides the people closest to me knew what I was going through. From the
outside it looked like I had reached the zenith of success. But my entire body
hurt. I was an emotional wreck. I had a major new contract and six books due in
eighteen months, and no way to live up to my obligations.
I had to do
something to get my life back in balance or my health—and my career—was done
for.
I went to
see a doctor, and he gave me the greatest blessing. He took out a prescription
pad and in big letters wrote: YOGA.
That man literally saved my life.
I’ve been
doing yoga for eighteen months now, and I’ve done a complete one-eighty. Physically, mentally and emotionally, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. I have
hobbies. I’ve reconnected with friends. I took a yoga vacation to Costa Rica.
I’m happy, healthy and invigorated.
And the
writing?
I stopped
thinking about bestseller lists. I stopped obsessing over reviews. I stopped working
ridiculously long hours. Occasionally, I go out to lunch with friends and I
make time for hobbies and to read good books. I’m no longer desperate and grasping.
Will I keep
hitting the bestseller lists? I don’t know. At this point, I don’t care. The
love of writing is back. I have a life. A real life I love. Not one chained to
the computer. And all those authors that I used to pity because they didn’t
have my work ethic? I realize now they were the ones who had it right.
True
success doesn’t come from accolades, and buckets of money. It comes from
finding that calm place within us. It comes from being healthy and strong. It
comes from being kind and spending time with loved ones. It comes from being
grateful for what you have. It comes from living in the moment.
Because that’s all we have. Right
now.
My only
regret is that it took me so long to understand this lesson. But at least I
finally got there.
What about
you? Do you feel like a hamster on a wheel that you can’t get off of? Do you
have some limiting beliefs that are keeping you from leading the life you
deserve? Are you sacrificing yourself for a goal that might leave you feeling
empty and lonely? What yardstick are you using to measure success?
