It’s happening again. I am suffering from postpartum depression in the wake of an Olympics. Call this one Vancouver games detox or 50K skinny ski hangover. It is very similar to what I feel after penning the last word to a novel (been there, done that, as they like to say on Death Row). In both cases you are caught up in something sublime if not surreal. You’ve stumbled onto a yellow brick road, fallen down a rabbit hole, passed through a mirror. Magic has kidnapped you, and life ceases to be a series of pedestrian events — washing clothes, cooking meals, getting the kids off to school — that are an end in themselves. Suddenly there is adventurous content in your life and unknowns and the potential for…
PERFECTION.
That’s what the Olympics and writing have in common. That redeeming pursuit of excellence. Doesn’t matter that the athletes run out of condoms, piss their names in the snow, or play air guitar from the podium during their national anthem. Doesn’t matter that the author falls into a bottle for breakfast, or lives a life of quiet desperation whenever he/she is cut off from their secret passion. The cracks and the flaws do not contaminate the liquid gold of the dream. What matters is the pursuit of excellence. What matters is the courage to put yourself in gear for that far horizon, even if you travel only a few steps during stolen moments every day. The waste and the shame come not with failing to get there but only in failing to set out. To allow fear of failure or the vanity of guilt to direct your one and only life is the same as hunkering down in the middle of the herd as if you never lived at all. That is the crime of a cowardly soul and an affront to whatever created you.
So I love people who dare reach for perfection. Dreamers. Risk-takers. Love them all the more when they fail. Love them still more when they fail and it doesn’t defeat them. A writer who keeps faith with his/her pure dream despite unrelenting rejection is still in-process to succeed. Failing is never failing until you give up, and a journey doesn’t end until you stop moving. Most of all, I love those who never give up and never stop moving.
You know what I’m talking about. You’ve been there. Been made to feel foolish or childish for dreaming. There is always pressure to conform to the majority who do give up and do stop moving. Being different is dangerous. After all, “who do you think you are?” So, when we get hammered enough by disappointment, most of us resign ourselves, compromise, “mature.” Thus, the athlete who seeks only medals and hears only applause quits staying fit when the medals and the applause are out of reach; the wannabe author tucks away their mss and demotes themselves to lesser expectations; the life of quiet desperation anesthetizes itself with spectatorship and stupor. They have reached their destination. RIP. But the dreamer, the romantic idealist, the Peter Pan immature oddball keeps trying, and that makes it a lifestyle (at least a closet lifestyle). Which is how they win at last: by remaining a participant in the Olympics of the Heart, Mind and Soul…
BECAUSE NOW THE EXCITEMENT, HOPE AND VITALITY OF THE ONGOING JOURNEY WILL LAST FOREVER!
Impractical? Don’t tell that to the part of yourself that secretly dreams, that wants to stay hopeful. Idealism is realism of the soul. In the territory of the heart, surrender and resignation should never be called being realistic. That is an inversion of the latter term. The needs of the inner soul (not to be confused with innersole) should not play second fiddle 24/7 to appearances demanded by society. If fulfilling practical obligations means canceling out who you are, you have morphed into a zombie. There should be nothing unrealistic about self-honesty trumping conformity especially if you don’t fit your circumstances. That may be inconvenient, but so is personal extinction. As Gerard Houarner, psychiatrist and one of our esteemed writers here at Storytellersunplugged, mentioned in his last column, being realistic is often considered anti-social.
But not for Olympians. At least not during those precious few days every four years when it’s all about performance and society focuses in vicariously. Those of us audacious enough to try and capture the world’s attention with our writing know the excitement and stress well. Stories are like single events and novels are like decathlons. You may be judged by pace and style or beauty and daring. The rules and execution tricks of language carry their own rewards and penalties for success or failure. You can lose or win appreciation points from the reader or be totally disqualified if you wander off course. And as you race ever faster through the baffles and turns of your plot, each chapter becomes another gate in a grand slalom that must be negotiated before the next chapter can be aligned. A cast of characters is inevitably the source of conflict, competing head-to-head for something or staggered in their interplay or as conspiratorial as a relay, and as these vie and collide they will produce heroes and villains in skeins of interwoven dramas. Those conflicts may be pulse-pounding with raw physical action or as lyrical as a ballet on ice, but always there will be a countdown to the resolution. A clock may actually be ticking. Certain things go hand-in-hand in the tableaux that the writer presents, as in the focused events of an Olympics: risk and reward, heart and mind, body and soul, substance and style. You are, for all the preparation and execution of your endeavor, presenting the world made simple. Life through a reduction valve. Whether that comes out in a series of fictional scenes or the symbolic goals and performance of an Olympic event, it is editing. But don’t wait for society to give you a gold medal after the fact. If your dreams are threatening to others, find a secret venue to perform them every day and write on with liquid gold…
The doctored photo of the Flying Tomato at the head of this article is from folk singer Mark Manrique (Doc Foto), whose novelty pix are a regular feature with which readers of my monthly newsletter are familiar. The newsletter is mostly inspirational stories and a rave about nature w/photos that has hundreds of subscribers globally. I’ll be happy to put you on the mailing list for free if you email me at mn333mn@earthlink.net . Past newsletters are at this author’s website under News & Articles (http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com/News.htm ) and usually go up within 1 day of being sent out.
May I also invite you to follow me on Twitter? It’s just something fun you can peep at without having to interact. The only thing that changes after you create an account by making up a username and password is that when you click on your account page you’ll see the tweets of anyone you wish to follow. Or you can simply click this link anytime: http://twitter.com/thomassullivan . Samples of my recent Tweets: Skis ran slow in the soft snow today. Like the woman in the bikini, I should have waxed. And … I have a 1-word solution for the killer whale: SUSHI And … Valentine’s Day: I shall visit a place where a woman once married me in her heart, mind & soul, and loved me with her body. Your thoughts are welcome, your attention valued.
Thomas “Sully” Sullivan
“Idealism is realism of the soul.” Thank you for the timely reminder, Sully.
Uplifting and inspiring as always.
You put that phrase in a photo every time you click the shutter in Australia. Thanks, Vicki…
– Sully
One and only life. Wow. That shakes me up. Thank you for making me feel special about not “maturing”. You captured the experience as only you can. I’m ready to go Nordic!
Nordic rules! Believe it or not, I’m still skiing here after a week of temps in the 50s and 60s. Probably will ski for a couple more weeks before having to head north. Man-made base is maybe 5 inches for 2.5 K of my fav haunts. It’s like being on a gerbil wheel and a little spooky, carving along in snow the consistency of sherbet at night when the temp is down, but hey, Nordic…right? And snowboarders think there’s only one way you can write in the snow. … Thanks for the kind sentiments.
– “Peter Pan” Sully
Good morning, Sully. I see that Vicki has already said precisely, to the last word, what I was going to say. So, Ditto! (PS I’m on the verge of possibly deciding to probably soon — is that vague and tentative enough for you? — come out of my shell and allow more me-ness to come through in my new blog.)
Now there’s a recipe for an idealism/realism synthesis! You do so much planning for others (your consulting business), it will be a treat to see your identity in greater relief. Write on… And thanks.
– Sully
And I? I run headlong into everything all at once, as usual. I did not name my blog Glimpses into an Overactive Mind without good reason!
This past two weeks has found me scribbling a new story by hand just before bed each night…growing new piles of words…
and seeking the breath to blow them into the world.
DNW
So how do you know when you quit writing and start dreaming each night? Or in our case, having nightmares, Davey. LOL. Ah, it’s synonymous with breathing. Well, keep sucking it in and blowing it out. To live is to write! It’s like having secrets bubbling up inside you all the time. Probably as close to being pregnant as I’ll ever feel (you think). Uh. Try getting that picture out of your mind, Sully. Write on, amigo.
– Sully
PS I hope everyone will go over to Jan’s blog (http://janlockert.blogspot.com/2010/01/american-writer-deserves-international_24.html). His Sully post is excellent!
Much appreciated, Jeani. Yeah, Jan, is very eclectic — an Eagles fan and a man with broad interests in poetry and cultural studies. For other readers: Jeani is referring to Jan Lockert who lives in Norway. His stunning photos are in my March newsletter, and the link goes to a superb in-depth feature/review he has done of my work with a special focus on columns right out of StorytellersUnplugged. Click the link she has provided, and you will be there. And if you’d like to see the magical photos, email me at mn333mn@earthlink.net and I’ll send you the newsletter free.
– Sully
Mercy! Am getting a number of emails from people concerned about my pulse as stated in the newsletter. Since over a thousand newsletter readers also follow that link here, let me answer: Was just exaggerating when I said it was 522, and I thought the sarcasm was clear when I added that I had seven capillaries south of my neck and was so skinny that dogs tried to bury me. Kidding, kidding. 522 is dead times 2-3. My resting pulse is extremely low — lower 40s. Never counted my capillaries. (Dogs really do try to bury me, however…I think.) Sorry, appreciate the concern, but reports of my death — as Mark Twain famously once wrote — are greatly exaggerated.
– Sully
Just when you reach what I think must surely be a max pinnacle of seamlessly weaving metaphoric facets that broadcast seeds of thought in many directions and are applicable to many situations, you pin up another nacle that tops it. Your present piece is a gold-medal-deserving example. Readers are not confronted with facets that oppose or angle off one another. You control their disposition with such precision that they become as one – like smoooth, but with a lot more o’s.
I spent years waiting for just the right opportunity to use “angle of repose” in a publication. I will now have to begin another such search with your “life through a reduction valve” in my back pocket.
Fine piece, mon ami.
Amalgam
Having become an expert on failure through personal experience, I come as close to success as I ever will by trying to live up to your kind sentiments, amigo. That “life through a reduction valve” is another reward, though, and I’m not surprised at your affinity for same. It’s the heart of what we both seek. Truths, syntheses, patterns — the stuff of insight. You’ve always had the Einstein skill of grasping the essence of things; I just like to talk/write about it. Cheers, Amalgam.
– Sully
Once again, Sully, our weird symmetry proves more than words deep.
This inner dialog I actually had with myself (Salt Lake City or Torino games) pretty much encapsulates my mania for the Winter Olympics: “Well, it’s 3am and I really should be getting to bed … but I’ve just got to know who wins this hockey game between Finland and Belarus.”
So. Today’s: Naturally, it’s speaking my language.
This especially resonates:
“Thus, the athlete who seeks only medals and hears only applause quits staying fit when the medals and the applause are out of reach; the wannabe author tucks away their mss and demotes themselves to lesser expectations”
You’ve probably picked up on the fact that I’m also inspired by fighters, and the kind of training that goes with the territory. The most intriguing ones to me are the ones who are always in training, the gym rats who don’t have to cut weight for a fight because they’re already there, always.
Or maybe it’s the other way around, and I’m stymied by the ones who have to start the same cycle over and over again to drop 20, 30, 40 pounds of what’s often called walking-around weight.
It all comes down to how much you love. Preferably, loving the process, all of it … loving the sweat and the grind, and not just the glory. Natural talent only gets you so far. And it may be a good respectable distance. But unless you want to settle, at some point you have to commit to a head-over-heels love affair with the labor no one sees.
It’s the difference between something you do and something you are.
Wow. Wonderfully put. Especially: “It’s the difference between something you do and something you are.”
I don’t know precisely when or where it happened for me — that point where workouts became the reality and not just the means to an ends. But it did happen. In the millieu of world-class training, athletes know it…know the jocks who have a secret ascendancy because no one else can do what they do in training, even though those workout animals are not going to take the gold in single head-to-head. Sometimes it’s not even about a daily workout, rather the accmulation of incredible training, whole being optimization, demonstrated over months or years. It may not even be physical as much as character, will, spirit, energy. And others, not in the artificial world of sport, come to the same wisdom in their own ways, the knowledge that it’s not about the absolutely necessary symbol of a destination but rather the journey itself. It’s a journey that makes you suffer, grow and fulfill who you are. Like you said. Thanks for sharing that excellence you live, Brian.
– Sully
Thanks for this inspiring post. It was just what I needed to read today.
Know how you feel, Joe. These comments and all the email are just what I needed to read today. Very affirming to hear so many people showing their secret passions and dreams that never quit. Many thanks…
– Sully
Excellent Article!
If I could write like this I would be well chuffed
The more I read articles of such quality as this (which is rare), the more I think there might be a future for the Web. Keep it up, as it were.
Anyone who uses the word “chuffed,” makes streamlined comments in 7-league boots, and is pun-conscious however gracefully delivered, is writing from the top drawer. Consider that you make a qualitative difference on that now and future web. A long ton of thanks, Wendy.
– Sully
Excellent article. Music, art, athletics… it’s all about the pursuit of excellence. An Olympian 50k cc race is life in miniature. The ups and downs, the need for risk-taking, trials and failures. And remember it all comes down to the last 10k. It’s NEVER too late to outdo yourself. Jan F.
“…outdo yourself.” That’s the great equalizer. You don’t have to compete against others or achieve absolute excellence. The whole idea is just to be a player on the stage, to live with every atom of your being, to feel the rush of uplifting yourself. The real risk is in becoming a spectator devoid of quality doing, quality thinking, quality feeling. “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp or what’s a heaven for?” as the poet says.
Thanks for adding a voice from exquisite Norway, Jan. BTW, your photos in my latest newsletter — especially that sunset — have brought in admiring comments from around the globe.
– Sully
Have to agree with that “Idealism is realism of the soul” statement. I’ve heard that quite a few idealists have worked as community organizers. Isn’t it time for a haircut there, Mr. Sullivan? ~ Doc Foto
re: “…worked as COs.” Not this idealist. Yours Truly worked in the “Don’t Tread On Me” field. Community Organizers range from Jesus Christ to wannabe Jesus Christs who run for Emperor on the Hoax & Chains ticket. As for the haircut, it’s tough to keep your head shaved every day when you’re going through puberty, but I try. Thanks for passing along the Kool-Aid, but I’m driving for gold today, amigo. Keep strummin’ that guitar, Doc Foto, and for those who would like to hear my old friend’s musical performances, here’s his YouTube link (that I think you’ll have to cut & paste): http://www.youtube.com/results?search_type=&search_query=manriq47&aq=f
– Sully
Me, worried about your pulse? Doubtful. More like you raise the pulses of the chippies up there in MN. Wanted to reply sooner, but I’ve started that damnable novel I keep threatening to write. I enjoy the Summer Olympics in general, but it is all about an individual’s endurance. No padded shoulders on football platers, that sort of thing. You’re not too old, you know. In fact, we start start practicing for the tandem bobsled any time you want. Sure to make headlines.
I’ve already begun practicing, my man. Up and down the 19 lanes on the ski/tubing hill locally. Course, I didn’t actually have a bobsled. Skinny skis. And it was night. And the ski trails have been closed for 2 weeks now. And I sprained my ankle in the dark. But I’ll be ready…
– Sully
Hi Sully, http://twitter.com/thomassullivan
Hadn’t really appreciated your tweets until you convinced me to sign on, http://twitter.com/delightfulrepas (No, that’s not a typo; apparently Twitter has a 15-character limit). I don’t think there’s anyone out there who can squeeze so much into 140 keystrokes as you do.
Thanks a long ton, Jeani. Got dragged into Twitter myself, but it’s fun and not intrusive, as I feared. I try to make comments that are meaningful/witty rather than mundane. And I mostly don’t follow others formally — so that I don’t have people following me out of obligation or playing the vanity game of having thousands of followers, as if you could/would keep track of all that. (I do keep track of people informally, using my list of followers to click on and see what they are up to.) That said, it’s personally gratifying to me under those conditions to have others actually want to read my short comments, and I try to make it worth their while…
– Sully