Writing Wednesdays
Playing Hurt
By Steven Pressfield | Published: December 14, 2011
The past two and a half years have been really rough for me. Issues of love and work, health and mortality have pushed me into places I’ve never been before. Yet through all this balagan (chaos, in Hebrew), I’ve produced some of the best work of my life.
I think there’s a connection.
It’s a myth, in my opinion, that we need to have our ducks in a row to produce good work. When I first started writing seriously, in my late twenties, I would work for ten hours a day, in the prime of health, with nothing to distract me. Now I’m lucky if I get an hour and a half, and I’ve got more balls in the air than I can count. Yet I do more now, and do it better, than I did then.
When I was finishing The Profession eighteen months ago, I was so sick that I had to work standing up, naked from the waist down (don’t ask). I was so unstable emotionally that I couldn’t be alone at night. I was riddled with doubt. I had lost all bearings.
Yet the work was good.
The idea that we need to be fit and trim and sane and organized to do good work is baloney. The best stuff I’ve done, I’ve produced under excruciating pressure of time and money, amid massive Resistance, insecurity and self-doubt, with my personal life in chaos. Not that I’m recommending such a state. But the fact remains: you can light up the board even with both hands tied behind your back and your feet sunk in forty pounds of cement.
Athletes play hurt. Warriors fight scared. Mothers give birth cursing, and babies emerge to daylight bawling and thrashing and wishing only to turn around and crawl right back where they came from.
The act of creation, particularly self-creation, is messy. It hurts. It’s terrifying.
But panic, self-doubt, claustrophobia, morbid dread, and all the classic “all is lost” symptoms are good, even if they scare the bejesus out of us while we’re experiencing them. They’re good because they are the product of being in over our heads—and being in over our heads makes us stretch and grow.
Stretch and recover.
Stretch and recover.
I’ve been on the road for most of the past two months, doing work that’s at least one, if not two levels beyond my capacity. It has paralyzed me at times. There were mornings when I woke up in my hotel room and had to say to myself literally, “Now, Steve, brush your teeth.”
I had to make my hand pick up the brush.
I had to walk myself into the shower. If I could have pushed a button and magically re-materialized at home, I would have done it.
Yet the work came out great.
This will be a short post, with a short moral:
It’s hard.
It’s supposed to be hard.
If you’re experiencing it as hard, you are not crazy. You’re sane. Your perception is on target.
When you’re stretching it’s hard and that’s all there is to it.
I’ll try to remember that, if you will.
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Hi Stephen, really love your work. But you know the really odd question that came to mind reading your post was…”is it worth it?”
Steven, you inspire me to no end. Please take care of your health. Artist and writers all over the world are inspired and motivated to create great worthwhile projects because of your wisdom.
Raw. Done.
Brilliant.
Reading this I realized two things:
1. I’ve been playing hurt in several areas of my life with results I probably wouldn’t have achieved otherwise, and
2. I somehow forgot to apply this to my writing. Still waiting to get better so i can write…..
Thanks again, Steven.
Remembering that it’s supposed to be hard is helpful – thank you.
Writing as self-creation. That hits it right in the funny bone.
This is lovely, and quite right, and exactly what I needed to hear today. Thank you.
I know you said it will be a “short post, but the effect was striking, and I think I will be back to this one as a much needed reminder.
Appropo that I saw this today as well…
“Adversity is common to everyone, resolve is rare.”
As you wrote in “Gates”, the injured wrestler compensates with skill.
Nothing brings out your best like adversity.
It’s interesting, given the prevalence of the biographical fallacy in writing about the arts, how you really can’t draw any conclusions about the state of the artist in their everyday life from the content or quality of the work they produce. Indeed, when things are bad, the doing of it can be the only real escape from the other stuff.
Having said that, there are two types of struggle represented in your post, and they are getting tangled up. There is the fight to practise despite the external obstacles of life (health, personal circumstances and the like) and there is the inherent struggle with the internal qualities of the art.
The latter is necessary to creation: if you always follow the easy path you can’t end up somewhere new. The former is not required: if you find yourself in good health you can still do good work.
And so, whilst I admire your tenacity immensely, I’d also like to wish you some easier (external) times.
Oh, how I agree with your statement!
Dear Mr Pressfield
There is a quote that I have recently come across. I repeat it so often that one of our employees suggested that I should have a tatoo of it done on my calf. The quote is from the Bhagavad-Gita in which Lord Krishna turns to Arjuna before he enters a mighty battle between good and evil, and says, “Plunge into the heat of battle and keep your heart at the lotus feet of the Lord”. The Lord could be anthing you truly repect God , the Divine or the Muse.
You also remind me of a time inwhich I had the opportunity to work with a therapist that had worked witht the UN at one time in his life settling disputes between tribes and feeling dispensable. Admiring him so much I asked him of all the great works and projects he had undertaken which was the one that pleased him most. He looked and me and quietly replied that the greatest thing that he had done so far was get out of bed and he admired his strenghth in doing so.
God speed
Jasvir Samrai
I love both of those, Jasvir. Thanks for writing in!
Jasvir,
I like those too. I like this post even more. Perfect timing. Thank you Steven.