In our world today, youth is glamourized more than anything. People are starting to make history at very young ages: the youngest professor in the world – nine years old, the youngest author – five years old, the youngest artist – eleven months old and so forth. Tech geniuses are practically in diapers these days, people are becoming billionaires in their early 20s… All this makes for a depressing world for the thirty something year old still hustling and striving to make it in this world.
There is this trend currently circulating our universe: ‘anything is possible and achievable with the right mindset.’ And in this social media era, it’s constantly thrown into our feed: rise up early, eat clean, think positively, manifest, and the world is your oyster.
I’m no stranger to this phenomenon. My perceived perfect day goes as follows: Wake up before the sunrise, have my devotion and pray, do yoga with the rising sun, use the restroom and shower, eat a nutritious breakfast, read some poetry to prepare my soul for the day, then write for hours on my nonfictional works, take a lunch break where I’d eat something light and healthy. Then I’ll resume writing, fiction this time, until evening. Go for a jog, take another shower, eat a healthy dinner whilst watching a good movie or TV show. Then I’ll settle into a good book and read until my early bedtime. Say a little prayer, go to bed and sleep promptly.
The reality is; this has NEVER happened. If I’m lucky in a good day, I’ll achieve only one or two of those goals. The problem usually starts with the fact that I’ve never been able to fall asleep promptly in my life, especially when I go to bed early. If I’m not dog-tired by the time I lie in bed, I’ll spend hours reveling in my head, and therefore be unable to wake up early. And the days I manage to wake up early, I’d be sure to crash for a long afternoon nap, which will render me drowsy and useless for the rest of the day. And if by some miracle I’m able to get to my computer early enough to write, I’d be sure to spend half my writing time day dreaming and zoning out.
This used to bother me before, (I’d admit, sometimes it still does). I’d chastise myself harshly for not being disciplined enough, or I’d be so angry with myself by how little I was able to accomplish in a day. But now I know it’s okay, I’m not a robot after all, how should I expect myself to live as one?
I convinced myself for years that my path to success was clean cut: remain laser focused on writing, and as long as I keep on doing that and putting my stuff out there, I’d be successful. Not true, because life is not linear that way. And for some of us, it just doesn’t work out the way we planned. Especially as an artist, there is no memo or tutorial towards achieving your dreams. The muse isn’t always invoked. But unfortunately for us, our lack of success is often perceived as laziness, as not working hard enough. We don’t have “real jobs” after all. When the hard truth is, in our line of work, hard work often doesn’t pay, as rejection is an inevitable part of the process. And after a while, even the toughest amongst us, gets eroded and beaten down.
Three times I swore I would never return to live with my mother and three times I have been back, either having fallen on hard times, or faced inevitable setbacks or just simply had nowhere else to go. I never thought in a million years that at thirty two, married and with a baby, I’d be back living at home- that my mother would have to convert her double garage into a room and living room for me and my family, foregoing rent and annexing the tiny cottage next door into the garage home to create more space for us.
I never thought that my father would have to pay for all my hospital bills, adding not just me but my newborn baby to his health insurance. I never thought I wouldn’t be able to buy even the clothes on my baby’s back; that my parents, family friends and close friends would have to contribute. I never thought I’d operate for nearly a year without a kitchen but would have to wash my dishes and my baby’s feeding bottles in a bathroom sink, right next to the toilet…
If I reflect any harder on this, I’d cry for weeks, I’d give up on being a writer and return to school to study something else, or get my PhD so I can eventually get tenure at a university, (I still might do that). Point is; being where I currently am in life doesn’t mean I haven’t spent the last couple of years working my butt off. It also doesn’t mean I’ll always be this way. The beauty of the future is, no one knows where it’ll go. And as daunting as that is, it also fills me with hope that things WILL get better.
Being an underachiever is one of the toughest things one can face, especially for someone that has had all the opportunities I have had: a great education, a chance to study and live abroad, having so much purpose and potential in my youth… I have both a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree. I published my first novel at twenty three and the second one at twenty seven; book sales were minimal at best for both books. I have written, directed and produced seven short films and one feature length film. Most of these, I submitted to every festival I could get my hands on, both big and small, (which cost me a small fortune). Nothing stuck.
I have applied to numerous jobs in my field and have gotten nothing other than internships, most of which were unpaid. I have also written several short stories, novellas and poetry, which I have submitted everywhere and this has only granted me petty cash at best, and minimal recognition. No contracts, no publishing deals… yet.
So, do I give up? Do I throw in the towel and call it a day? No. I recognize that this is just my life right now. It won’t always be this way. This is just the phase I’m in at the present moment. This too shall pass. I have to keep on grinding despite all my past failures, despite all the time I have spent honing and pushing my works. I have to keep trying even though it seems futile right now, because I have even less time to be creative these days, adhering to the needs and demands of my four month old daughter, of whom I’m her primary caregiver. I can’t give up. I just have to keep keeping on.
So I proudly wear the badge of the underachiever, knowing full well that my present condition is not from a lack of trying, it’s just circumstance. Understanding that in a career like mine, many things are out of my control. Rejection doesn’t mean I am bad at what I do; it simply means my time is yet to come. Somebody in the right avenue to help me is yet to appreciate my work. I know that THAT day will come. And when it does, I’ll be a beacon of hope to other underachievers saying, “If it can happen for someone like her, it can happen for me as well.”
In the meantime, I’m doing all I can; blogging mostly whilst working on my next novel. Practicing gratitude for what I do have, and enjoying watching my baby grow – an opportunity many working mothers do not have. I get to take care of her myself and raise her, without fear that she’s being abused or neglected.
As an underachiever, I’m learning to thrive in my lack of a fixed routine. I instead set tiny daily goals that I achieve at my own time. This has helped me to write at my own pace without any added pressure. I have an infant after all, who lives her life without the constraints of time, night and day are all the same to her, and it’s meaningless to her whether I want to write, or be alone to unwind, or sleep. So I can’t be rigid but pliable, achieving the things I can in a day, and not fretting over the ones I’m unable to achieve. There is always tomorrow. And after all, it’s not about how early you wake up or how late you go to bed, it’s about what you’re doing with your time while you’re awake.
zizbaby 