Turning Pro: The Professional Mindset

In this last section of the book, Pressfield breaks down what the Professional thinks. It has taken me a long time to get to this level of my practice with self-love, self-affirmation and compassion. And much of it is due to reading both Turning Pro and The War of Art. I also picked up another short crib sheet called Do the Work, which breaks down the lessons of both books through the prism of writing screenplays. I am a lucky guy. I get to work professionally as a Professional. 

I have been reminded a lot lately that the hierarchical pursuit of a writing career doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things if it's just to serve the Ego. But working towards something greater, towards having a practice that fulfills me despite what the outside rewards happen to be, that's a real pursuit. Pressfield goes into what a writing practice is in this last section. It's probably the one section out of all three books that I re-read the most. 

The Professional Mindset. Has a nice ring to it. It says everything I want to know about. And that mindset has made me a calmer, harder working, less anxious human being. And with that, it has made me a better writer.

Qualities of the Professional

1. The professional shows up every day.
2. The professional stays on the job all day.
3. The professional is committed over the long haul.
4. For the professional, the stakes are high and real.
5. The professional is patient.
6. The professional seeks order.
7. The professional demystifies.
8. The professional acts in the face of fear.
9. The professional accepts no excuses.
10. The professional plays it as it lays.
11. The professional is prepared.
12. The professional does not show off.
13. The professional dedicates himself to mastering technique.
14. The professional does not hesitate to ask for help.
15. The professional does not take failure or success personally.
16. The professional does not identify with his or her instrument.
17. The professional endures adversity.
18. The professional self-validates.
19. The professional is recognized by other professionals.
20. A professional is courageous.
21. The professional will not be distracted.
22. The professional is ruthless with himself.
23. The professional has compassion for herself.
24. The professional lives in the present.
25. The professional defers gratification.
26. The professional does not wait for inspiration.
27. The professional does not give his power away to others.
28. The professional helps others.

The professional does a lot of things, apparently. I look at that list and I see what I still struggle with. It's funny, but the first two - showing up every day and staying on the job all day - are probably the hardest. And the most simple. In a way, I do show up every day, even if I'm not writing every day. Showing up every day is being in the mindset that the priority of your day is your craft. I mentally show up every day, absolutely. And yes I get distracted, but considering where my practice was several years ago, I'm more committed than ever. I questioned whether or not I wanted to continue writing after my Dad died because I didn't know if anything meant more than the year I spent with him. But I also know that living my destiny is the best way to pay tribute to my Dad. And not letting bullshit like Hollywood get in the way of my destiny. I have to work in a system. Someone who could actually influence my career asked me if I want to work on network TV. I said YES. Right away. Unequivocally. She said I have the temperament and personality to do that and to go far, if I want to. But I know that there's a difference between the art of what I do and the commerce of what I do. I respect both immensely. And it takes a certain stamina to work in network TV. I need that experience to know whether or not it's the thing for me. And here's someone saying that I could handle it. It honestly isn't about the money alone. It's about the position and the learning that comes with working at that level - and working at that level is getting paid at that level. So it's a byproduct. But that's not the primary goal for me. I need to learn how to be nimble. And that level of competition is how you get there. Along with that level of competition comes that level of evil eye. But life isn't a temperature controlled bubble.

I'm kind of good with patience. Well, I'm impatient. So I guess I'm not good with it. But I am good with  #3 and #17 - I am in it for the long haul and I can endure adversity. So while I'm not patient, I can wait shit out. I'm getting better at asking for help (#14) and not getting distracted (#21). Working on both of those currently.

The Professional does not give his power away to others. This I have struggled with most of my life. I'm a lot more assertive and sassier because I don't give my power away anymore. I'm not as easy. That's for sure. But I won't give my power away any more. I am compassionate and I love to help others, but I won't seek out a guru. In some ways, I'm happy not to have a mentor because that means that I won't be temped to give my power away. I love receiving help, but if I'm giving away my opinions and self-love to someone else - that's not good. I feel like this mostly shows up in my work with an executive, producer or representative. It's easy to give away your power to the person with the white lab coat - the doctor who tells you what is going to work and not work in regards to your health. When I stopped believing doctors just because they were doctors, I stopped giving away my power to others so much. It's not a perfect science, but I'm aware of all 28 of these edicts whenever I work on my art.

Ruthless

I love this story in the book of Picasso taking these paintings that a gallery owner loved and taking a knife to all of them because he wasn't happy. In grad school, I was told that I wasn't precious about my work. I took this as a huge complement. I like to tear things down and start over. I'm also learning that I'm getting better at knowing what I want going in, so that there's less of the tearing down. But I'm not afraid to do it. I think that's the point. I literally have no problem cutting lines. I get a thrill out of it actually. I want it to get better and I'm not willing to rest on my laurels.

Compassion

Funny that these two qualities are next to each other. I found that once I could give compassion to others, I could find it for myself. I'm much kinder when things aren't working the way I want them to. I'm patient and loving with myself. Then the work comes. I recently worked with a director who was so nice to me that I was worried that the work we were doing wasn't going to be anywhere near terrific because she wasn't tearing me a new asshole. The play turned out great - better than other things I've written because of her compassion for me. Compassion is such a major part of my Professional mindset because it means I am constantly encouraging myself instead of tearing down and building back up. That tearing down takes time, it robs me of momentum and it's useless. There's nothing wrong with encouragement. Compassion means that I'm also not spending time tearing down other people. I'm not letting my jealousy or my self-hatred rule my brain and run my mouth.

My compassion also allows me to be there for other people - "The professional helps others." I teach. I love teaching and I love sharing my experience with my students. I get invigorated by my students. Their energy and enthusiasm fuels me. I am not threatened by them. I don't think that by helping them I'm allowing them to get further ahead and therefore they become a threat. I had a friend a couple of years ago who taught and who started to get jealous of his students. It was a dangerous place to be. It was a negative place to be. That negativity eventually spread to other people around him, including me. This guy was a sweet guy whose jealousy made him act out and alienate people. However, that guy is having a successful run of it right now. That didn't prevent him from his success, nothing was going to prevent him from success that's owed him. But his lack of compassion for himself and for others will rear its head elsewhere. My compassion keeps me from having those flips of fancy. I'm in it for the long game and I want to be comfortable in my skin. I want to be happy for others. I want to have a circle of friendship that's tight and supportive. That's how I want to live. The successes and failures will happen as they happen. I don't have to be a nice guy to be successful. I'd rather be a nice guy in my success because it makes life easier. That's what compassion does. It makes life more pleasant.

I had drinks with a friend of mine tonight who's also enjoying great success. I love that I can give her a hug and mean it. That's the person I want to be. I had coffee with a high level writer/producer yesterday who wants to reach out and help me. Nothing is taken away from any of us by being supportive and helping each other out. It enhances the pleasure of living and the quality of life.

Magic

Does discipline get in the way of the magic? We have this idea that magic creates the art. And magic does play a part. Sometimes I'll be working and I'll put something down and an idea will pop in my head. But I had to be there, showing up every day, for that to happen. The discipline harnesses the energy around which the magic can occur. The discipline is the smoke and the magic is the fire.

I consider myself a craftsperson. I'm not a magician. I'm not a sorcerer. I'm not a genius. I'm the guy who shows up and does the work. I have a vision. And I imagine a greater purpose for my work. But I have no spells and potions. I have hard work. I have focus. I have curiosity. I see the joy in the work. There are two salaries as Pressfield describes it. There's an actual monetary salary - that goes up and down. Sometimes it's there and sometimes it's not there. But then there's the psychological salary. My mind is sharp and my focus is strong because I have developed them. The success for me is the work. I'm blessed that I have the ability and the concentration to do the work. I'm able to juggle teaching, writing, working with the theatre company, and a personal life. I love writing and teaching. I get energized by teaching my students the nuts and bolts of dramatic writing. I reinforce my own knowledge every day I grade a paper, prepare a lecture, give a lecture and talk to my students. I have been reinforcing my knowledge of TV and film writing for ten weeks. I have been in training for my next TV job for the past ten weeks. My focus has not waivered. Teaching does not take me away from my writing work - it brings me closer to it. 

This week, I start running a writer's room with my class. I am training to be a showrunner. We do that for the next four weeks. If I end up teaching in the spring, I will be running a writer's room all term. The magic happens because I can run through my drills faster. I can write a script or edit a script faster and with more precision because I am always working at it. The skill of being in the writer's room and banging out outlines and scripts in three months prepared me to be a better practitioner. A better athlete. And this is a race, it's a marathon. And I'm training every day to keep my stamina up to run that race. 

Pressfield says that when we do the work for its own reward, it becomes a practice. And that's what it has become.

The Practice

My Years in the Wilderness (from Turning Pro) by Steven Pressfield

"In a way, I was lucky that I experienced failure for so many years. Because there were no conventional rewards, I was forced to ask myself, Why am I doing this? Am I crazy? All of my friends are making money and settling down and living normal lives. What the hell am I doing? Am I nuts? What is wrong with me?

"In the end I answered the question by realizing I have no choice. I couldn't do anything else. When I tried, I got so depressed I couldn't stand it. So when I wrote yet another novel or screenplay that I couldn't sell, I had no choice but to write another after that. The truth was, I was enjoying myself. Maybe no one else liked the stuff I was doing, but I did. I was learning. I was getting better.

"The work became, in its own demented way, a practice. It sustained me and it sustains me still."

I couldn't have said it better myself. This is my philosophy. I can't stop. I tried to. I tried to get other jobs. I tried to make money. The Universe wouldn't let me. Even when I begged it to let me do something else. I got depressed when I didn't write. I didn't like my life when I wasn't pursuing writing full time. That's why I was miserable for the first seven years I lived in LA. I got less and less miserable when I stopped pursuing writing for a limited purpose - for money, for fame, for love, for recognition, for validation. Now that writing has a purpose, now that I have made it a practice, I am much happier. This is where I am supposed to be. 

And I needed the years to question if I was nuts or misguided or stupid. I needed the years to do it every day, to develop a habit, to not give up. And I learned and got better. I did it for its own reward, not because the next script was going to make me famous or something. 

I have made this practice my primary purpose every day. I have a ritual - I get up, I get tea, I get meditating and I get going. I have devoted myself to the daily practice of writing. Like Pressfield says, it sustains him.

A practice has a space. Like I've mentioned before, two years ago I had a space to work and to go to every day for six months. It was incredible to have that space available. Then I lost it. But it created a space within me. But even the year before that, I went to the library or a coffee shop and wrote with friends. I was creating a space around me that was sacred for my writing. Then I had the physical office. Then I created the space in my life for writing. I have a time every day that I write. I know that getting started by 10 AM is the best thing for me. I can still get work done, but if I get started early, then I can most likely be productive every day. I have a clear intention every day. I know what I'm going to be working on and I work on it. I have an agenda for myself every day that I work.

Pressfield says that when we up our game aesthetically, we elevate it. It becomes something that has a higher purpose. He cited Roseanne Cash's story who decided, at a midpoint in her career, to go back and change the way she studied her craft. She started studying different disciplines to up her game. Even when I was working on our show, I knew that I needed to be more efficient in the way I worked. I was curious to see what it was like to work on set. So I spent about three weeks or so (over a month total if you include the time I was in meetings) learning everything I could. Even being in the room upped my game by showing me how to do real outlines and then taking me through to the draft stage. Now when I work on my own stuff, it takes me much less time to get a draft together. But I only was able to get my drafts in as quick as I did during the show because I had been writing a lot over the past several years. I increased my productivity and put myself on a schedule. I decided to treat my office as a one man production office with a slate of original material I was generating myself. Once I started behaving like a Professional, professional opportunities started coming my way. The reason so many things happened this year is because I've been acting like a Pro for all of this time. And that Professional mindset begets more Professional attitudes. It feeds on itself.

Trusting the Mystery

I call it "welcoming surprise." I have learned to welcome surprise into my life. I don't expect the things I think are going to happen. I leave myself open to be surprised, because as Oprah says it, you let the Universe dream a bigger dream than you can for yourself. I want to be surprised.

I trust that there will always be something inside the box. I won't be faced with the terror of a blank page for long. The muse will always come through - if she knows where to find me. 

My friends and I often say that we're sometimes the worst judge of our own work. Sometimes the things we love feel the clearest - because we have a desire for connectivity. When I've written plays or TV pilots that feel like they'd resonate with people, those are the ones that don't seem to. When something feels like a sure bet, it's not. I wrote this last play, which on some levels could be considered something that would resonate. But when I was writing, I wasn't thinking of connecting per se. I was taking a wild risk and writing in a voice I've never written in before. When I got immediate feedback that it resonated, I was shocked. When I write something that doesn't feel like a sure thing, I'm trusting the mystery. When I write something and I say "I don't care if this gets produced", I am trusting the mystery. I don't always see the things that others see in my work. Thankfully, I have people around me who I respect and who tell me to keep going and to keep trusting the mystery.

 

My friend David has two plays he has written in the past three years that I love. I'm not sure what it is about the play he wrote about yogurt, but there's something that resonates for me about it. There's also something about his spirit that resonates in his work that I just love. It's a mercurial, on the razor's edge quality that I respond to. He's not writing in a clear cut way, but he's also communicating emotion directly. Everything's a bit frayed on the edges, which I like. It's not sloppy, but it's not so clean that the emotion has been sanitized out of it. It's inviting. And the same thing about this new play he just finished that has a great idea at the center of it. But he feels like he's at the center of the ocean with water all around him. I can see there's land in sight.

My friend Liz and I got together for drinks last night and we had this exact conversation about trusting the mystery. I said to her that I look forward to being surprised because the best things have come about when they've been unexpected. It's that idea of the Universe dreaming a bigger dream than you could for yourself. I didn't expect to be on a show this year or be on set or have three half-hours of television with my name on them or to join a theatre company or the WGA. I couldn't have dreamed that for myself. Maybe that's because I was involved in the work and not worried about the fruits of that labor. 

Trusting the mystery means that I work over my head a lot. I want to stretch and to grow and I hope that whatever's inside the box or behind the blank page is something that I can use. For the new play I'm working on, I want to play with language in a way I've never done before. I want each character to have a distinct way of expressing themselves - maybe this comes about in terms of meter and cadence. Maybe it's about a regional way of speaking. Maybe it's because these characters are all from different eras. I'm not sure. But I know I want them to speak differently and none of those ways are ways that I speak necessarily. I have some research to do and that will help, but the mystery will be in the fact that I can't time travel and understand factually how these characters talked. But I can imagine and dream and create the way they talk based on what I learn. That's trusting the mystery. And there's something about creating a bridge between the research and my own imagination that's exciting.

Trusting the mystery is also knowing that it's not all going to be a steady flow of creativity everyday. I come to my place of work every day with the intention of being available. Sometimes I write these blogs. Sometimes I muse on about a subject that's on the periphery of what I really want to write about. Sometimes I write twenty pages. But I sit in that space with the intention of the subject I'm working on. I don't always get as much done as I'd like to. But I'm around. I always show up. I'm learning not to fear the inspiration not being there. As long as I come to it everyday, something will come to me. Whether it's in the car as I'm driving or when I'm in front of my computer. I take each day as it comes to me, even when I'm sad or angry or hurt. I show up to the field ready to give it my all, even if my all involves me in a cast or with a limp. I do what I can every day. And on the strong days, I push it. And on the less strong days, I push it. 

What Turning Pro Means To Me

Turning Pro means that I'm at it every day. It means that I don't let up, even if I don't have 100% to give that day. I trust that it's coming. Even if it's not today. I have patience and perseverance. I have confidence.

Turning Pro is what my friend David said to me last week. He said that it doesn't seem like I worry. He asked me if I felt like I had "made it" because I don't seem to worry. I don't feel like I've made it. But it's true that some part of me doesn't worry. I trust the mystery. I have turned Pro. I instantly got defensive and told him that I DO worry, as if I had to reassure himself that I'm human and not perfect. But I have to own what he said because it was a gift, a reminder to me that I have turned Pro and I don't have to apologize for it.

Turning Pro means that I don't worry about what's in the box or if I'll ever make it or if my talents will be appreciated. Because something is always in the box, I've been hired once and I'll be hired again, and I appreciate my talents. I self-validate. I always know what my value is, so it doesn't matter if no one else is aware.

This Walt Whitman quote has been my destination for the past 21 years. I think I've finally reached it:

I exist as I am, that is enough,

If no other in the world be aware I sit content,

And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself

And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years,

I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

That is Turning Pro.

My intention is to sit content.

My intention is to know.

My intention is to be.

My intention is to expand, like Walt Whitman expanded in Song of Myself.

I am grateful for Song of Myself.

I am grateful for self-knowledge.

I am grateful for self-love.

I am grateful for the entities that bring me closer to myself.

I am grateful for the person who knew what this Song meant 21 years ago.

I am grateful for the gifts of literature coming to communicate with me through time and space.

Turning Pro: Self Inflected Wounds

In this conversation of Professionals and Amateurs, I think about a friend of mine who I saw today. We haven't really seen each other in awhile. She went to graduate school at USC over the time we saw each other. The person I met for lunch today seemed a bit more relaxed about the business. She seemed like she knew more about herself and more about her work. She seemed like more of a professional than she was when we last were hanging out. I was happy to see the change in her. She needed discipline and got it in graduate school. It was always clear that she was talented. Now it's clear that she's got the drive and work ethic to get where she needs to get to.

I was thinking about her in terms of looking at the qualities of a Pro and an Amateur. We've all been at that place where we had "raw talent." Some of us felt like we needed to be so excellent and a prodigy right away. And we got frustrated when that didn't happen. When I was a kid, I was just used to being funny looking and not smart enough. I suppose I got used to working hard that when the results of my work started happening, I never really thought - "Now I'm amazing." I kept working. And even when I had a moment in graduate school where I felt, "Wow, this is it", I still got my ass handed to me.

Here's the thing: You have to be an amateur in order to grow into a Professional. You have to start trying and then you have to decide how serious you're going to take it? Will it become a vocation? Or will it stay a hobby? I had a friend in college who was one of the most naturally gifted actors I had ever met. But she didn't want to keep working at it. She wanted it to all come to her. And the actors who worked at it got great. And she moved on to do other things. I know that she has come back to acting and I'm sure has seen her craft grow. But I would get frustrated that a bunch of my college friends would kiss her ass because she was more talented than they were. I wasn't an actor, but I knew that she had a natural gift I didn't feel I had. But I also knew that I worked at my craft. It made me angry to know that she wasn't working her craft hard and that she was resting on talent. Nothing made me more pissed off than that. She was an amateur. She had these grand ideas of how things should go.

Anyway, whenever I re-read this chapter, I think of her. She pulled the pin early on. I think of many friends who believe that a natural ability entitles them to great things happening. Great things may never even happen for people who work really hard. And some times people who don't work at it get rewarded. Life isn't fair. But I have no patience for people who don't put the work in and expect everything to come to them. I really love the work. It's my favorite part. That's no bullshit.

Let's Hear It for the Amateur
Amateur life was exciting. It was the time when I had these grand ideas of how everything would work out. That was my 20s and part of my 30s. When I was in college, I first discovered that I had something that resembled talent. I tried things and failed all of the time. But I loved it so much. I realized I was a theatre geek early. I knew that I liked these weird people. But I couldn't act. I tried and tried, but I didn't like how self-conscious it made me feel. I questioned my voice, my face, my body, my hair. It was torture. However, I loved dancing and it didn't matter how bad I thought I was. As long as I could emote with my body and not talk, I was fine.

Once I started to get better at things, I had all sorts of opinions about how good someone was. I guess that's the way you start to separate yourself - "I'm more talented that she is." I was bitchy in graduate school because I thought my talent made me a better person. I started to identify with the gift - and that was a good thing for awhile because I grew up not sure if I would ever be good at anything. I was starting to see that I was good at something and it quickly turned from pride into bitchery. I thought being a good writer made me better than other people. Understandable, given the fact that I was a kid who didn't think he was good at anything and didn't have a lot of friends. People liked me because I was talented. I started to see myself as a writer - and my value rose and fell based on how good I was. It's good to have a sense of value. But it's also a dangerous line to balance.

I didn't realize what an amateur I was until I read The War of Art. At a certain point, it wasn't about being the most famous or the richest. I was out in LA for a long time and I just wanted the opportunity to write. I remember Whoopi Goldberg saying something once about acting, "If you want to be a working actor, that's easy. But if your goal is to be famous, then that's a more precarious situation." I'm paraphrasing. But I realized that I wanted to be a working writer. And Whoopi was right. That was easy.

That's when I started writing all of the time. I always wrote. I always banged out at least one or two scripts a year. But that wasn't nearly enough. And I was working a full-time job, so that made it difficult. But I needed to pay the bills. Especially when I moved to Weho with my then boyfriend, I had to keep my job. I couldn't just take time to write all of the time. But once my situation changed, then I had time to make writing my number one focus. And it has been a struggle. But I had no choice, I had to write. The desire never went away.

Even though I was an amateur for so long, I really loved writing. But I was caught up in the glory I'd get from it. Yet, that was also the thing that kept me going for a long time. I realize now that the place people quit is the moment before they turn Pro. Once they realize that big dream's not going to happen - they're not going to win the Oscar/Tony/Emmy/Grammy/Pulitzer/Nobel Peace Prize they stop. But that's the moment where you get the call to turn Pro. The call is: How hard are you willing to work for it? And that call only comes because you've stopped working as hard as you can work.

I lived in such fear. Pressfield says that the big fear is that you'll succeed, not that you'll fail. And I can say that I was worried about what would happen if I left behind my family and everyone I knew for this goal. That was the main subconscious obstacle that held me back. FOR YEARS. What I realize now is that maybe I needed to find a new tribe. Maybe I need to find Professionals.

The Competitor
I had to win. I had been bullied and made fun of my whole life. I had to "show them." And them was just about everybody. I made myself tough in order to compete. I had the "Eye of the Tiger" and the movie of my life would have several training montages. Although, a writing montage would be pretty boring. I made everybody my enemy - not literally, I had a lot of friends and I seemed to play nice. But I saw everyone as something who would get in the way of my success. So as I saw people give up and fall away, I would take pleasure in that because I knew that I had stuck it out. I was better than anyone who gave up.

Then I believed my own hype and I started not working as hard. And during that time, my "competitors" kept going at it. They had less ego than me. And they started succeeding. And the world started to notice. And then I was the one who felt like a loser because I wasn't getting what they should be getting. And I thought the world was unfair. I felt the world was laughing at me for thinking that I could possibly be excellent. But it wasn't excellent I was after. It was "noticed", "famous" and "rich."

Excellence would come later, once I got over myself and once I stopped competing.

Instant Gratification
I thought my ship would come in no more than a year or two after I moved to LA. And the ship would have come in, if I had gotten on it. I had an agent interested from a good agency. And I put my fortunes in the hands of a manager I thought was looking out for my best interest. And that ship sailed. For years, I would look back on that experience as my big Fuck Up. This agent wanted me and loved my samples. He wanted to try and staff me right away. But my manager said to wait. And then he never followed up. He thought we could get a better offer. And then it went away. That's when I learned the big lesson to not give my power away to anyone. Well, I didn't really learn it then. I learned it after working for this manager for seven years and being with a toxic boyfriend for five of those seven years. And then my Dad had to die.

I was at my lowest low. I thought I had missed out. If only I had…

I realized that if I just looked at my life as missing the one opportunity that got away, I would truly be a failure. Around this time, I was miserable. I had hit rock bottom, even though I didn't know it yet. I didn't care any more about being a big famous writer. I just wanted a staff writing job. That's it.

I wrote three plays that year. Then I wrote some specs and some spec pilots. All bad. Most of these spec pilots would take me a year or two to "get right." I had no instinct. I still had a level of raw talent, but nothing was clicking. What was I doing wrong?

I went to work for someone else. I knew there was a "professional polish" I didn't have. I didn't walk into a room with the confidence that people who had been working had. I knew I had to be more than just a good writer with promise. But I didn't know how to make good on that promise. So I kept writing, because I couldn't do anything else. My Dad got sick and I wrote to keep my sanity. That seemed like a good reason to write. Then my Dad died and now I was writing with real purpose. By this point, I had stopped thinking I knew everything.

I was a full-time writer. I was a working writer. I made no money from writing.

I don't even remember what the big decision was or the turning point. But I was writing all of the time. I didn't have another job. I was scraping by. I would teach here and there. But I wasn't making any money from writing. At some point, I decided that I would write no matter what. It didn't matter if plays were produced or if I made a living as a staff writer. The work would be the reward. That didn't mean I stopped working hard because I didn't have a goal to be a professional staff writer. I still was competitive. I still wanted to be good. But I didn't feel like I would die a failure if that never happened.

Around this time, I fired my manager. I didn't want to be beholden to anyone. I wanted to know that I was on the right track because I said so. I didn't want anyone's opinion. I felt like I had lost myself as a writer and I was working to get my voice back. Or to maybe find it for the first time.

I had been in LA for a long time by this point. And nothing was happening instantly. I was writing and loving it. I now had a community of other writers - I was starting to be recognized by professionals. People now saw me as the guy who worked harder than anyone else. I didn't know if that was true. I didn't look in my rear view mirror enough to find out. I kept going. Around this time, I realized I was happier than I had ever been - poor and writing.

I had turned Pro.

Compassion
Around two years ago, when I had the office, I was doing some meditation work. That meditation that day was about compassion. I had a revelation. During my Dad's illness, I took care of him. I was fond of saying that I had offered compassion to someone who I felt never had it for me. I said that a lot. I thought it sounded enlightened. But I had never thought about what that really meant. During that meditation I did. And I cried.

Because I realized that I was more forgiving and nicer to myself. Once I could have compassion for my Dad, I was able to have compassion for myself. And I was being good to myself. The Amateur thinks that he has to be hard on himself to do well. He doesn't have patience or compassion for himself, so of course he doesn't have it for other people. That was me.

I see other artists who make themselves suffer relentlessly because they're hard on themselves. I used to think that if I wasn't hard on myself, then I wouldn't achieve. My Dad was hard on me. Then I became hard on myself. Letting go of my Dad was letting go of this vicious cycle of negative thought. I was so grateful that I had moved past a real blockade for myself that I cried. I was free.

The Past and the Future
I idealized the past. And I knew that the future would be better for me. Once I started meditating, I could be in the Present. It's such a cliche. Live in the present. I didn't know how to do that for such a long time. I felt like I had lost the ambitious person I used to be. And I thought that future success would save me. It'll be fine to fuck up my present because the future is waiting for me - I've been chosen. That's how I used to live. And now I know that I have to be here now in order to be there then.

The Amateur lives in the past and the future. When I read this for the first time, I realized how long I had been an Amateur. My friend who has been having a lot of problems lately is an Amateur - not because he's not talented. But because of this definition. All he does is relive the past in his head. I have some friends from college and grad school who get together just to talk about how great things were in the past. They want to talk about the productions we were all in or the plays we wrote. For a long time, that made me feel good because I felt the best days were behind me. Something in me knew that it wasn't over for me - it couldn't be over. Now I realize that it could have been over if I had decided it was over. And it's not over because I made that decision too. I can feel my friend struggling with these feelings. He's having such a hard time and those of us who know his struggle feel bad for him. I don't know if he's going to get out of it. He's a good guy. He's an honorable person. But that doesn't mean that he's going to get past it.

Pressfield says that the Amateur will be ready tomorrow. Amateurs make excuses. My friend has made a ton of excuses when I've offered help. It's easier to make up a reason why you can't do something rather than doing it. As Pressfield says, the Professional's fearful too. But the Professional pushes past this fear, which is often greater because he realizes what's at stake.

No One Is Smarter Than You
Bethenny Frankel believes this. I now believe this. How did I learn this lesson? My Dad was in the hospital and doctors were telling us what to do. They had the white lab coats, so the assumption was that they knew what was best for him. They didn't always. As Amateurs, we can often give our power away to others who we feel are experts. We do this all of the time with anyone who works at a network or studio or sits behind a desk. They don't know more than us. Skinnygirl Margaritas would not exist if the liquor business knew more than Bethenny Frankel.

I would have never had a senior showcase. I would never have had a production at a small theatre in the West Village. I would have never done all of the things I've done producing theatre, getting meetings, and getting out of my small town if I believed everyone knew more than me. I wouldn't be involved in a theatre company. I wouldn't be getting ready to direct a workshop next year. I would have never finished the play that got me my manager and TV gig if I had listened to other people who claimed to know more than me. Some of them believed it, too. I pissed a lot of people off because I wouldn't relent. And you know what, I didn't get into trouble for it. I spoke up for myself and I didn't get in trouble for it. I also have stopped asking permission to do things. And you know what again? I haven't had to ask for forgiveness either.

I'm working with a new manager. He's a great guy. From other people, I hear that he does not want to be a dramaturg. He does not want his clients to constantly ask for constant notes to complete something. He wants you to do it and then he'll comment. He wants you to figure it out. And if he likes it, he'll send it out. If he doesn't, he won't and you'll move on to the next thing.

At first this frustrated me. But then I realized that it was the right approach. And there's no pomp and circumstance when he decides to send something out or not send something out. Either you hear about it or you don't. It forces his clients to keep writing. I don't need his permission or approval. I don't need to give my power away to him. And he's not asking me to.

For so long, I wanted a guru and a mentor. I would say "I don't have a mentor" when I saw friends who had famous writers as mentors. For some people, that works. For me, I just ended up without any real mentors. I have my first playwriting teacher, but we haven't talked in years. He's a great guy, but he's not interested in being a guru, even though many people have tried to make him that.

Professionals don't give their power away. It has taken me my whole life to learn that.

What Happens When We Turn Pro
Life gets simple. Everything else falls away - if you listen to what the Universe is telling you. When I turned Pro, certain friends left me. I had a friend who was jealous and picked a fight with me. I had another friend who was superficial and was mad that I wasn't bullshitting in my life anymore. I haven't talked to either friend in over two years. And it's better that way. They both have successful lives and careers, but they weren't the right people in my life.  People got weird when I turned Pro. I can feel that judgment that I'm working too hard that's behind certain complements. I don't worry about it anymore. I'm not afraid to charge ahead. I'm no longer worried that people are going to think I'm better than them. I know I'm not. But I have to be the best, truest, purest version of myself and I can't dampen myself to blend in. I'm a sore thumb.

And in another way, nothing changed. I kept working. I didn't grow horns. I didn't instantly get the dream job. I had a work ethic. I had a practice. I had consistency. Again, the rewards were the new habits I was creating. The outside rewards come and go as they need to. But it wasn't like the Universe gave me a windfall of great things once I turned Pro. Once I turned Pro, life continued as usual. The jobs and the opportunities would come years later. The Universe had to know that I was in it for the reward of hard work and not the fruits of that hard work. I'm learning that the fruits don't mean as much as the work itself. That might sound crazy. It didn't happen overnight.

I have a real routine now. I go to bed by 11 or 12. I get up by 7 usually. Or a little earlier. I have my tea. I check my emails. I meditate. I should meditate first, but if I don't wake up a little bit I fall asleep during my meditation. I have the same thing - sweet potato hash browns, protein and two sunny side up eggs every morning with guacamole - for breakfast. Sometimes I have a little bone broth as well. Then I start answering emails or I pay bills. I do my business stuff in the morning. Then I get to work around 10 - I take off to the library or I find a spot to work for the day. Then I come home for lunch - or bring it with me or eat out - and then I do the second part of the day. I have an actual lunch break. I treat it like work because it is. Even if I don't get work done that day, I sit down and make room for work in my day. Sometimes I get together with friends to write. Sometimes I have meetings. It all depends.

Pressifeld says that Professionals recognize other Professionals. When I turned Pro, I realized that all of my friends were now writers - professional writers and Professional writers. Now, I have my theatre company family, my playwright family, my TV colleagues and other accomplished actors, directors, writers and producers in my life. I'm only surrounded by Professionals. I have a lot of people on the periphery, but it's hard for me to extend myself to people who are not Professionals.

I have better concentration now. I have less distraction. And THAT change has really only happened in the past year. I still get distracted. Resistance is still there. But I give into it less. I don't follow so many boys into the steam room like I used to at the Korean Spa. I sit on a lounger with a lap top on my lap and I keep working. I still get depressed. I still doubt myself. I still procrastinate and put shit off. But I also get back up and don't get discouraged, even if it takes me a week to finally hit my stride again.

My friend David said to me the other day that it seems like I don't worry any more. I talked about this in a previous post. But I think it means that he's seeing my Professionalism. He's noticing that I don't let things get in my way. I have a job to do and I do it - come rain or shine. It's not great every day, but if you're at it every day, a few bad days here and there don't matter.

Crafty
When I turned Pro, I really wanted to perfect my technique. I knew that if I wanted to ready for a staff job, I had to start working at that pace. I couldn't just be a good writer. I had to be fast, efficient, and an idea machine. I had to simulate working conditions. I started meeting friends for writing dates when I knew I couldn't just do it on my own. I took an office. I treated writing like my job. Even after I had to give up the office, I still treated writing like my job. And then writing became my job.

I don't stop. Even getting that first staff job made my writing so much better. I'm a better more efficient draft writer. For my next job, I'm going to be so much better than I was this time out. Even in writing the two pilots I worked on this year, I was able to take those drafts and figure them out quicker. Teaching has made me more efficient as well because I'm teaching those techniques constantly. It's reinforcing what I know. When I go to the next writer's room, I'm going to be so much better. Also, if the next writer's room is my own writer's room, I'll have great practice. Because I run my classroom the way I would run a room. It allows me to scrimmage.

Epiphanies
When you have an "a ha" moment, it usually hurts. When you move from one state of mind to another, there's a big seismic disruption. It's a 9 on the Richter scale. Every time I've gotten to a higher state of efficiency or consciousness, I had to bleed for it. But then the scars made my skin tougher and they've given me more stamina. But like the song goes, "There won't be trumpets…"

You have to keep going.

My intention is growth.
My intention is widening the net.
My intention is expanding the circle.

I am grateful for stamina.
I am grateful for focus.
I am grateful for friendships that keep me on my toes.

Turning Pro: The Amateur Life

Amateurs are people for whom a pursuit is a hobby. 

Professionals are people who take their shit seriously and who have training and schooling.

That's what I thought before I read Turning Pro. I was satisfied with this simple explanation. But I had an MFA from NYU and I worked in the entertainment industry. Yet, I was still an amateur in a lot of ways. I had written a lot. I had things published. I had produced theatre. I had a lot of gumption and motivation. I worked hard. But I was still an amateur. How could that be?

I was still afraid of what I wanted to do: become a writer. Yes, I had made a lot of sacrifices to do it and I had been validated a lot. But it had been awhile. I was going through a major transition with my Dad's illness and later, his death. Change was the first step in turning Pro. I know I wanted to turn Pro. But I didn't know why I felt stuck. Over time, I kept wishing that I would get unstuck. 

Then I broke up with the boyfriend. Then I broke up with the boss. Then my Dad got sick and we were about to break up, too.

Change. Disruption. The death of relationships. The death of my relationship to myself. The death of the amateur. I was going to become a Professional, whether I liked it or not. And it didn't feel good. It felt like my whole life was crumbling. It felt like I was losing everything. I did not see a light at the end of any tunnel. Everything I had known about myself was starting to slip away.

Now what did I know about myself? I was a brilliant caretaker. I was an excellent assistant. I was really comfortable at standing behind the scenes and doing things for other people. I was living in the shadow of other people. Even my "career" was a shadow. It wasn't the thing I really wanted to do. But I thought I was doing the thing I was supposed to do. I felt being an assistant to a powerful person or a boyfriend to a powerful person was going to be my way to fulfillment and success. I didn't realize that the reason none of it was working and the reason I was suffering was because I wasn't meant to be anyone's second banana. I was in the wrong position. But I stayed there for so long because I was afraid to do anything else. And the whole time, the Universe was letting me know I was in the exact wrong place. It couldn't have been any clearer and I didn't pay attention. I had a low paying job. I was drinking too much. I was bitter. I was buying books on my boss' Amazon account. I was resentful. And I was acting out. I was hooking up with other guys. I let my boyfriend's bad behavior cast a shadow where I could do things that were bad too - for survival. But I wasn't surviving. I was dying. And I was stuck. I lived in deep unhappiness for years. Yet, I stayed there. I stayed in that amateur place. 

Somehow the prayer was heard - the call to turning Pro started exactly six years ago today when I walked out of that life. I had no idea that's what I was doing. I left everything.

"What we get when we turn pro is, we find out power. We find our will and our voice and we find our self-respect. We become who we always were but had, until then, been afraid to embrace and live out."

It would be years before I started living that life. You could say that I turned Pro the moment I walked out, but I still hadn't embraced my true voice. I hadn't committed to it yet.

Once I left, other things were set into motion. I got another job offer. I left a job I had for seven years and I moved on. That job gave me a lot of my confidence back. I realized that I had so much to offer. Then that job ended and one day later, my Dad goes into the hospital. I knew in that moment that I was going to be on a journey until he died. And here I was again - a caretaker. But I had to learn how to take care of myself while taking care of my Dad. Writing became essential again. It became necessary to survive. I found my voice again. Now, the things I was writing weren't amazing. But I was writing and rewriting and living. After he died, I told my grief counselor that I wasn't working. He reminded me that I write every day. That meant that I work. I decided to believe him and I kept writing all of the time. I also took the time to grieve and to experience all of the pain that my father's death brought about. I didn't run away from those feelings. 

But again, I found myself in a position where I was taking care of another boyfriend. It wasn't as bad. This guy was kinder, lovelier, better looking and more stable. But it became more about this guy than it became about me. Yet, this time I was writing a lot. Once I was ready to commit fully to my writing again, things started to go south. I wasn't able to go to his gigs every weekend. I had to make time for my writing - even though I didn't have an office to go to or a paycheck to tell me that what I was doing was real work. And once I did take an office, things changed even more. But I didn't stop. I had turned Pro by this point. Pressfield says that things change, people change, routines change when you turn Pro. And it had changed our relationship. I didn't care. I knew I was on the right track. I knew it.

Eventually, that relationship ended. And that's when my life opened up again to another level. That was the beginning of this year and has been well documented in this blog. I no longer had a shadow career. I had a real career. Turning Pro had started to change my molecules. And once I got in that writer's room, things began to change even more. But I'm not stopping.

I am so grateful for my amateur life, for my shadow careers. Because those things brought me to where I am now. In a public library. Writing.

I still have a lot of Resistance. I deal with it every day. I like to distract myself with sex. I have found that even over the past few months, I have chosen work over hooking up. That was not always the case. So even as I became a Pro a while ago, I still have to work at it. I still have to become a deeper Pro and not get addicted to the distraction.

Jealousy is a distraction.

Anger is a distraction.

Anxiety is a distraction.

Comparison is a distraction.

It's all Resistance and I carry my sword and go back to The War of Art twice a year because I know how ready Resistance is to take me down. I deal with doubt every day. I wake up knowing that I've got to get started ASAP because the longer I wait before sitting down to do the work, the better chance Resistance has at taking me down for the day. I don't wear my doubt on my sleeve, but that doesn't mean it's not there. I take it so seriously that I have my quiet, focused eye on it at all times. I'm not friendly with it. I don't try to make a joke out of it. I take that assassin deadly seriously. I'm going to take him out before he takes me out.

My distractions let me know that I'm on the right path. Because the stronger they are, the more I know I'm exactly where I should be and that the stakes are deadly serious.

Pulling the Pin

Pressfield tells a story of how when we're about to achieve something, at the very last minute, some of us "pull the pin." We set off the grenade that destroys everything at the exact moment where we have the most to lose. I would always pull the pin at the every end. I spoke before about how I would  have three things due in a month and it was always the last thing that would take the longest. It was always the last thing that I was in danger of not doing. I was pulling the pin.

Pulling the pin is self-sabotage. It's that conversation with my friend where he asks if I feel I've made it. It's that doubt that seeps in. It's the doubt that makes me not want to make my friends feel bad, so I pull back. As Pressfield has said, Resistance is not personal. It's a cold-blooded killer. But it has nothing against us. David wasn't being a dick. He wasn't even doing anything wrong. But the killer had used his words and his body as a host. And it was ready to shiv me to stop me. I recognize him a lot quicker than I used to. My instincts are way better than they used to be. Resistance and I have been doing this dance for a long, long time.

Listening to other people, 9-to-5 jobs, "normal stable" life - those things are also pulling the pin. My brother thinks that my life is weird and irresponsible. He doesn't know how I'm going to live my life with so much uncertainty. I'm mobile. I'm an adapter. I shift around and have to constantly adjust and shape shift. I'm nimble. That would be frightening to my brother. It's not the life he wants. But I've pulled the pin countless times listening to people like him saying that it's impossible and that I'm selfish to think that I even deserve to have what I want. I pulled the pin so many times in my life because of my Dad, my brother, my boss, my boyfriends.

I don't pull the pin anymore. Because I'm a Pro. But that grenade is still within reach, in my line of sight and in earshot.

My intention is strength.

My intention is expansion.

My intention is enlightenment.

My intention is excitement.

My intention is growth.

I am grateful for friendships.

I am grateful for quiet library study rooms.

I am grateful for a full calendar.

Turning Pro (The War of Art, the Sequel): The Year I Turned Pro

Last month I revisited The War of Art,  a favorite book of mine. It's a book that has changed my life when I first read it thirteen years ago. I tell people that the book is responsible for my change of perspective in regards to my career. I try to concentrate on the work and not all of the outside noise that surrounds the work. I try to drown out the voices that tell me I need to compare myself to other people. It takes the mantra "everyone has their own journey" to a different level.

About two or three years ago, I realized that Steven Pressfield had written another book that takes the lessons of The War of Art and deepens them. I remember reading that book, Turning Pro, and feeling like this is what I needed to focus on. It took the lessons from the first book and made them practical for me. I suddenly realized that turning Pro is what I needed to do. It was around the time that I took an office in Silverlake that I realized that it wasn't enough to get rid of Resistance, that I needed to turn Pro. In a lot of ways, I feel like this book is a lot clearer to me. The last section of The War of Art still has aspects to me that feel abstract. But this book was straightforward in the best way all the way through. And it's the book I recommend people read right after The War of Art.

I thought it was appropriate to include my reflections on this book, in addition to the thoughts I had about The War of Art. The basic philosophy is laid out in the first book and in Turning Pro, he lays out the action. After I reflected on The War of Art, I started to notice that my friends were responding to me differently. I basically took an online course in the first book and that started to change my energy to people. My friend David, who I mention in my previous post, remarked that I don't seem like I worry. I credit both The War of Art and Turning Pro in this change in vibration. I have spent a year watching a lot of people worry about a lot of things and I just get deeper underneath that anxiety - like a wave crashing over my head - and I pop back up after the anxiety makes its way past me. I duck. That's my best strategy.

Why did I spend so much time hating myself? Growing up my father felt like he had to tear me down in order to build me back up. He felt that I was too soft as a kid. He thought I would be taken advantage of and that I would let people walk all over me. So he hit me. And he verbally attacked me. He was training me to fight back. And I did fight back. Then he would argue with me. And I would argue back. Eventually, I got really good at a come back. Then I don't think he liked that. His ego got involved and I was accused of thinking I was smarter than him. My father started calling me a snob and accusing me of thinking I was better.

I got it stuck in my head that if I was too smart or too articulate that people wouldn't like it. I had a love/hate relationship with my intellect because I realized it kept me distant from my family. It meant that I was taking too many steps forward. I lived for years like this - dumbing myself down or staying quiet so that others could be heard. I did it in school. I did it with friends. I did it in relationships.

Last night, I had a conversation with a close friend that felt like the end of that - even though I didn't realize it at the time. My friend David remarked that I seem not to worry about things. Did I feel like I had "made it" because I had written on a show or joined a theatre company or joined the WGA? No. I didn't feel like I had made it. Why would he think that? Am I getting too big for my britches? Dad's voice creeped back into my head in the form of one of my closest male friends. I was vulnerable to this negative talk. David wasn't being negative. He wasn't even aware of the message I was hearing in what he was saying. It was our old friend Resistance who inhabited my friend's body and started to say things it knew would derail me. It was a sneak attack.

I didn't fall for it. Well, I fell for it a little. But once Resistance got that first punch in, I shook my head to realize what was happening. My friend was right, I had put a lot of anxiety to rest. It no longer serves me. And he had highlighted me that there was a space where that anxiety once was. It was productivity. I am twice or three times as productive as I used to be because I don't spend a lot of time in worry. I spend more time in work. Sure, things get to me. Sure I have anxiety. It never goes away. But I know how to deal with it now. David helped me realized how far I have come and it made me realize that Resistance is an enemy that is there waiting by my door every day, trying to find its way in. It's relentless and it's sneaky.

This year was not the year I turned Pro. Contrary to popular observation, I did not become a Professional because I have a WGA membership card. I did not become a Professional because I have my first writing credit on two and a half episodes of television. I did not become a Professional because I wrote some really good scripts this year or because I was asked to join a theatre company. I became a Professional years ago, after being "in" the business for years. I was around the business. I was an observer, a tailgater. But I wasn't in the arena.

I had written some good things. I had a spec of "The Office" that people really liked. I was the assistant to and a client of one of the hottest TV literary managers in the business. I had a bunch of meetings. I had come close to a lot of things. I lived in West Hollywood with my agent boyfriend and we had two dogs and the life. We ate at Cecconi's several times a week and travelled on private planes and luxury automobiles with celebrities. I had all of the trappings and it made me miserable. I wasn't writing as much as I was managing two oversized personalities. That took up all of my time. And I wasn't getting any younger.

When we broke up, I didn't become a Professional. When I left that job and moved onto a job working with two showrunners who were incredibly nice to me, I still wasn't a Professional. I had professional jobs and worked with studio and network executives. I knew a lot of movers and shakers. My Dad got sick and I took care of him. I had to take him to doctor's appointments and I had to make sure he was taking his medicine. Every night I would write while he slept. That might have been the moment I started to turn Pro. I started writing to survive. I was able to turn off the voices of doubt. I wasn't writing to get a job. I didn't know when I'd be able to work because my Dad needed me. I wasn't sure I'd even become a paid writer. In the moment, I wrote because I had to have something that was mine because I was giving everything I had to someone who needed me.

Then he died. I questioned what I even wanted. I was in therapy for a full year. I wasn't working. I was collecting unemployment and writing. I had a new boyfriend who was understanding, yet also felt like work would get me "back to normal." I kept waiting for a sign of what I should do. I didn't have any money. But I had a lot of time to write. I applied for a lot of jobs - none of which I got. I had all sorts of skills to do all sorts of things, but no one wanted me. Again, I realized that I had one resource in spades: time. So I wrote.

That's the year I turned Pro.

I had no money. But a lot of time. And I used what I had. So I started writing a lot more. I eventually got an office offered to me and I took it. Then I had a space and a time to write. Around that time, I discovered Turning Pro. And that's what took me on this journey. More on that throughout these posts.

My intention is to extend.
My intention is to excel.
My intention is to expand.

I am grateful for these books.
I am grateful for Pat Benetar's Greatest Hits - which was on sale, btw.
I am grateful for the words.

What's Wrong With Being Confident?

The title of this post is from a Demi Lovato song - where I get all of my pop culture wisdom. I play it in my car when I want to get pumped up. I work out to it. I sing along and let the message of the song seep into my consciousness…apparently.

I had a conversation with my friend David last night to catch up. He asked me if I feel like I've made it. I asked him to clarify. He said that he used to hear the worry in my voice, but since getting the TV job, he doesn't hear that in my voice any more.

Do I feel like I've made it?

My knee jerk reaction was to say, "Of course, I don't feel that way. I worry. I worried last week when I thought my manager wasn't doing enough for me. Remember that?" Wow. Defensive.

It's true. I worry. I'm not immune to it. I feel the same insecurities we all feel. I'm only teaching one class a week right now. I don't have any jobs on the horizon. I'm not taking any meetings. I have plenty of reason to let my anxieties take over.

But it's true that I've also said something over the past several years - Anxiety's a waste of time. Once I stopped worrying so much, I made time for a lot of other things - like work. Why was I getting so defensive when David asked me that question? I was worried that I wasn't worrying enough. Are people going to think that I think I've got it made? Are they going to think that I'm that arrogant? Are they going to think less of me?

See? I worry.

It's because one of my closest friends brought something to my attention. That I wasn't worried enough. That's not how he meant it, but that's at the bottom of that statement. And it hit me to the core because I'm vulnerable when it comes to what David thinks of me. Because I love him - we're tight. I do care what he thinks. And here I was in this place of worry last night during this conversation. I even asked for a follow up.

Have I changed? Do you feel like I feel more confident?

The answer was yes. And not in a bad way. But I have changed.

But wasn't this the goal all along? To not worry as much? To change the way I look at myself and my career. To go back to the friend I've been mentioning for the past several blog posts, that guy is full of worry. There's so much uncertainty in this business and in life in general - so the natural reaction is to worry. It feels a bit unnatural for someone to not have a worry. Either that person is blind or lying - that's not David's opinion or my friend's opinion - that's the general consensus. That's what we're trained to think. And I don't think that way any more. I've succeeded!

Right?

So why am I not worried? I don't know. I have plenty of reason to worry. But I trust the surprise element and the unexpected. I also trust that there's always something in the box. In The War of Art and Turning Pro, Pressfield talks about trust. He says that we have to trust that the muse will be there for us as long as we're letting her know where we're at every day. We have to trust that the idea will be there. We have to trust that the Universe will be there with a work opportunity or a job or a meeting. And I've successfully managed to do that.

Until last night? Well, that doesn't mean I've failed. It doesn't mean that I have to go back to square one and get back to the level of not worrying I was at before. It was another check in - thanks, Universe! It's a marker to let me know how far I've come in not letting anxiety rule me. Now does that read as arrogance or feeling like I've made it. It could. I've been afraid all of my life about getting ahead of the pack and that's why I haven't. I never wanted people to think that I thought I was better than them or smarter. I honestly don't care about that any more. I'll never be the smartest person in the room, but I'm happy to be myself. And if that means I seem like I'm relaxed and this is all easy, I can't be responsible for how people see that. It's not personal - they're not judging me. I'm judging myself. And even if people think I'm arrogant or full of myself, that's not my responsibility to try to remedy.

My friend David loves me and he wants the best for me - I know that and he made that clear last night. He's not jealous or envious. He's got a ton of things going on, more than he realizes. We talked about that last night. It's hard to know what you've got going on because you're so inside of it. He has a play that has won a ton of awards and notices. It's a play that he thought was dead in the water a year ago. I remember saying to him - I LOVE that play. It's not over. And it wasn't over. He's an incredibly talented guy and has been teaching for the past several years. He's on a roll, but it's hard to know that until things start manifesting into jobs and opportunities. I get that.

I don't have to worry that about being too confident. I don't have to worry that I'm pissing people off with my attitude - I've always pissed people off with how positive I am. That's who I am. He loves me. My friends and family love me. And I don't worry as much. Why? Because I can't do anything about any of this. I have control and I have options. If this manager doesn't work out, I'll find another. I found this guy and I'm not a shitty writer. I'll find another job. I know that I create good impressions and every job I've ever had has turned into a bigger opportunity than it was originally supposed to. That has been the case in every single job I've ever had. For me, I have to decide where I want to shine that spotlight. What part of the lawn do I want to grow? Which part of the garden should I attend to? The tomatoes? The strawberries? The herbs? The onions? The lettuce? That's all any of this is. What part of the garden will I attend to? Because I know that where I put my attention, that part of the garden will grow - and bigger than I could have planned for.

The best remedy for worry is work. And that's what I try to stay focused on. My friend David reminded me of that last night. I put all of my worry and hesitation and anxiety into the work and that keeps me distracted. Soon the worry goes away and I create more opportunity for good things to happen without thinking about it.

My intention is expansion.
My intention is forward motion.
My intention is focus.
My intention is self-validation and self-care.
My intention is compassion.

I am grateful for friends who check me with love.
I am grateful for colleagues.
I am grateful for public gatherings that reflect back to me where I'm at in my life now.
I am grateful for moments of stillness.
I am grateful for my mediation practice.

The Art of War: Beyond Resistance - The Higher Realm

This is the third section of The War of Art. It's the section that I've always had the hardest time with in terms of focus. I never understood what this section is supposed to be about. It talks about more spiritual aspects of creativity and it doesn't feel as concrete. So I'm probably going to talk about this section in more abstract terms. When I read the book version of Turning Pro, I felt like the advice felt more practical, which is what I felt in the first two sections of The War of Art. This is the section where it started to get all gaga googoo. Let's see if we can get through it.

The Forces We Call Our Allies
Pressfield calls these spiritual forces muses and angels. These are the forces that we wait for. These are the forces that seem to call up magic when we need it. But as Pressfield explains, the magic only happens when we sit down every day and are available to the magic. But magic doesn't occur without hard work. I find in my own work that since I've created a practice of working, the magic happens when I let go.

A month ago, I had already started to wind down. I knew that I had this pilot rewrite to finish. That's all I felt I needed to work on for the rest of the year. I wasn't feeling inspired. I wasn't feeling like I had a bunch of ideas swimming around in the queue of my brain. I kept saying to friends, "I'm out of ideas. I have nothing." Two days later, I had an idea for a new play. As I'm looking at the middle/end of November, knowing that I have a group session with my friends where we're going to each share 3-5 two minute pitches, I realize I have nothing. And by saying "I have nothing", I know that the muse is going to descend upon me at some point and supply me with some ideas. As long as I'm continuing to type every day, committing to the mechanics of the process, I know that something is brewing. I don't know what that is. I'm listening to Pat Benetar, I just finished listening to a bunch of podcasts, I had lunch with a new theatre friend - I'm taking in a lot of information. Something will come at some point. But I don't worry about it. I keep typing. I keep talking. I keep reading. And eventually -

Approaching the Mystery
I love the mystery. Correction: I've grown to love the mystery. I would freak out every year when I thought I'd have to come up with new ideas. I'd make a list of things. It was forcing out a poop when you're constipated. I was bound to bust something open at some point. I haven't done that for years. I guess some how I figured out that I have to trust that something will be there. Pressfield talks about trusting what's in the box - it goes back to some old improv exercise. When I have an idea swimming in my head, I keep a journal. I write in that journal constantly. Even if I don't know exactly what the story is yet. Or if I don't have the format. Or if I don't have characters. I keep a journal where I type - mechanically, full of unformed ideas. I let my fingers move. It somehow gets my brain working as well.

Pressfield says that doing the work - not that art, but the work - everyday allows things to unlock. First of all, we are focusing energy in one direction. It allows me to stay focused on the thing. I don't know what that thing is yet. But the mechanics are imperative in creating a routine. It creates a destination for the ideas to come. It's like creating a signaling fire or sending out flares. I know that I am in one place everyday - and that's the place where the traffic needs to be directed when there's an idea floating around in my head.

In the book, Pressfield suggests that all of these wonderful works of art already exist, but they just need a conduit. That brings to mind the idea of destiny. I believe it's my destiny to be an artist. ARTIST. That's a lofty title. Sometimes we don't think we're worthy of it. It feels selfish and self-serving. That's Resistance telling us things like "who gets to do this" or "it's a selfish pursuit" or "there must be better ways to serve others." Sure, if the only purpose you have is to service your ego or to get validation, then absolutely there are better ways to spend one's time. The whole point about making the pursuit an actual practice is that it becomes bigger than recognition. If you believe that all of it already exists and that it needs corporeal being - a flesh and blood material host - to bring it into existence, then it's a vocation and a mission, not just a career or a way to be acknowledged.

I have a friend who's really unhappy with his life and his career right now. He feels like everyone around him is getting opportunities that are somehow missing him. But he doesn't sit down every day. He does not focus on the thing that moves around in his belly, forcing him to get up. He doesn't have a purpose beyond getting a job and being recognized. An artist needs a purpose. An artist needs a reason. Or at least I do.

When my Dad died, I questioned whether or not I even wanted to write any more. It seemed to frivolous and unimportant compared to what I had just spent a year doing. I took care of my dying father. What's more important than that? I also realized that my life could not be defined by that one event. It had to be part of the journey, not the entire destination. It had to be the event that changed me, not the event that kept me stuck. The story was not over. When he was dying, I wrote every day. People seem shocked by that. How could I write with everything going on? How could I write if I was that tired? If I was really there for my father and had given everything to him, how could I possibly have any time for anything else? Why was I taking time to do something that was good for me when my Dad needed me all of the time?

I needed to survive. When I was a kid, being picked on, I wrote to survive. I wrote to make sense of the world around me. I wrote to have a place where I could still feel good and worthy. My imagination was my safe space away from all of the scariness around me. When my Dad was dying, I came back to that. I don't remember how good any of that work was. I wasn't thinking about how writing a play or a pilot was going to advance my standing. I wrote because I needed to be reminded that I existed. Writing kept  me sane. That's all it needed to do.

When he died, I had some serious soul searching to do. Would anything ever feel that important to me? Should I become a missionary? Should I go become a nurse? Should I volunteer with refugees? Should I seek out a higher purpose? I got back to writing. Writing is about survival. Even when I'm trying to make a life for myself. Even as I sit in my writers groups. I am writing to survive. I am trying to make a living. I am signaling to groups of other writers that I am alive. I am bringing community to me by continuing to write. It's survival. I have to do it every day in order to feel alive. I don't do it to get on this show or to get that production. I have not lost the desire for those things. But they are not the main focus. In the process of writing for survival, I have let go of attachment to outcome.

My friend said that he doesn't buy it. How can I not be concerned with how people perceive my work? How can I not be attached to results? How can I possibly know if I am good enough if I don't seek out markers - or other people who tell me how good I am? That seems impossible to him. And it is impossible to him at where he is at this point in my life. For me, it's true freedom. I am someone who is a working college professor, a working TV writer, a member of the WGA, a member of a theatre company, and a future showrunner. I am a Professional - who detaches himself from results. That does not mean that I have no results. I have a shitton of results. But I don't try to anticipate what my plays or pilots or screenplays are going to mean in the world. I could spend all day driving myself crazy if I tried to do that. Besides, that's none of my business. I'm just trying to will ideas into existence. That's tired and frustrating enough. I can't spend my time worrying about all of the things I have no control of. I would never get any work done. And those people who spend all of their time concerned about stuff they don't have any control over never get any work done. I don't judge it because I've been there. My friend has every chance of making it out and every chance of not making it out of that head space. It's up to him. And it was up to me, so I know it's possible. And I've seen people who never make it out, so I know how dangerously close I was for it not being possible as well.

Why It's So Hard to Begin
I have this thing that I'm starting to identify. When I know something I'm about to write has great stakes, it takes me a long time to get started. Here's an example: Two years ago, I had three scripts I knew I had to write in May. I had a play rewrite for a reading. I had a pilot to turn in for a submission. And I had a spec to write for a contest. I wrote the pilot in two weeks. I rewrote the play quickly. And then it came time for me to get the spec done for a deadline in twelve days. I struggled. I slept a lot. I slept on the floor of my office when I was supposed to be working. It felt so damn important and I was scared. Beginnings are tough because we are awakening something that's going to conspire to help us get what we want. It's Resistance knowing that the moment we open up that pathway, it will be like Pandora's Box and we'll get everything we want. It's releasing something important and vital. And if it's not this script, it will be the next or the next. If we start, we may never stop. I struggled and I wrote that spec - but it took me an extra two weeks. I missed one deadline, but I made the others. Now maybe I was tired. Maybe expecting to write three competent scripts in four weeks was too much. Now, do I feel like a failure because I missed one deadline? No. I would have failed if I convinced myself that two scripts was enough for a month or that it was too hard or that I was really too tired to finish. The failure was not giving into my fatigue or my doubts. The failure would have been never getting up again. I did finish. And nothing happened with that spec.

Was that a failure? No. Because the following year I wrote twice as much as I wrote that year. I have developed a practice for myself. I had an office for five months that I had to say good bye to because I couldn't afford it any more. Was that a failure? No. A failure would have been to be so discouraged that  I didn't write as much the following year. A failure would have been feeling like I could only write in an office by myself where I had to go into an office to write anything of real value. A failure would have been quitting. A failure would have been writing script after script and quitting because people didn't like it. I would have never written another play the following year. The muses and the angels wouldn't have blessed me with an opportunity to work with a theatre company that gave me the opportunity to write a huge play that was an idea I had that seemed impossible. It was a political play. A failure would have been to stop then and not even attempt the new idea because I'm not a political writer. A failure would have been to feel like my writing wasn't good enough for me to spend a year working on something that I wasn't sure would result in anything. A failure would have been to think that I'm not good enough, so I should move on and do something else. A failure would have been to believe that all of the rejections said that I was worth nothing. That resentment would have turned into Resistance. When I finished that play eight months later after countless rewrites, readings and workshops, nothing happened. After so many people in my life saying that this was going to be the play that was going to launch me, nothing happened. A failure would have been to believe that this wasn't a good play. This play ended up getting me a manager and a TV job. A failure would have been to think that I had done enough in those eight months. Instead, I wrote two more scripts in the last three months of the year. And I started the play I wrote this year. The second play in a row where people were saying, "Now this is what's going to launch you." I don't know about any of that. I know that I wrote a play that I LOVE. It deserves love. But I can't say whether or not it will get it.

Like I said to my friend, I'm not attached to the outcome. I have to do the work. A failure would have been to think that I've done enough with last year's play and that I should wait for all of the accolades to come because people say this is my "silver bullet" play. Because I wrote a play that was even better. I didn't plan it that way. And if nothing happens with this one, well, there's a new play idea I'm starting…

But that will probably be hard to start as well. I had that experience again this year. I had three things I was working on in August. I had my workshop coming up, so I had to write and rewrite the play for my workshops. I had a ten minute play that was due for the festival in October. Because I wanted to be on set and learn, I had taken some extra time in getting a rewrite to my manager. My friends say that three months is not an unreasonable amount of time. It is to me and I can only live by my own standards. But in that time I had written this play. I didn't count on my manager seeing it that way. So I decided that I had to get the pilot done because Mercury was about to go into retrograde and I needed to prove something to myself. I'm not sure how much investment I put into retrograde. I respect it. But regardless of my personal feelings, I took it as a deadline I needed to meet. So I turned in the pilot rewrite and the play to him. I made the deadline - the third thing I had to finish I ended up finishing on time. I conquered Resistance.

I had the same experience last week. I hadn't heard from my manager about those two scripts - the ones I had spent so much time on, that I had pushed myself to finish. Was he not getting back to me because I had taken three months? But I have him TWO scripts instead of ONE! Hadn't I proved myself? Was he punishing me? A failure would have been to give into the voices in my head. A failure would have been to give in fully to my anger and make me inactive. I knew that I had this other pilot I had been working on. I was struggling and dealing with Resistance on working on it. I had lost motivation. I had given into my fear. I decided to take my frustration about not hearing from him in two months - even after I had checked in with him - and use that as motivation to finish the rewrite. I knew that if I finished the script, I could say to him that I had a new script I wanted to show him, but I needed to hear about the other two pieces first. I finished the pilot in four days. I was going to take a week to rewrite and then give it to him on Nov 1st. The next day, I got an email saying that an agent wanted to see another play from me. I had reason to contact my manager and give him that news - in that email, I mentioned this script I just finished. We got on the phone. We talked about the material being ready to send out. And in a couple of days, we decided to send the plays to two more agents. I now have this pilot that I have time to work on. I have the month - or at least a few weeks - to perfect. Because I have been writing so much and because I have gotten a professional job that taught me how to be fast, efficient and precise in my writing - more than just writing on my own could teach me in a short amount of time - I know how to polish the fuck out of that pilot. I've gotten so much better. A failure would have been to stop all of those weeks, months, and years ago. A failure would have been to see "no results" and stop. A failure would be to stop now and not experience the growth ahead of me.  I pushed through that Resistance and got things done. Now I'm in a position to make this pilot better and not be rushing to finish something that he's now begging me for because he needs another new piece of material. On our phone call, he said, "I'm going to need another pilot." I was able to say, "I just finished a rewrite. I'll get it to you when it's ready." A failure would have been to let Resistance beat me down when he wasn't getting back to me. The funny thing is that I'm not as tired as I thought I would be after writing over 1500 pages already this year. I want to keep pushing.

Territory versus Hierarchy
When you compare yourself to other people, to other things, to others' successes - you live in a hierarchical mindset. How can you not, though? In most of life, you feel you only know how good you are in comparison to other people. It's clear when you're in a classroom who is better than you - the people who speak up and who get better grades. It's hard to not look at someone else's paper and see what they're up to. Hollywood is the worst for that. It's very easy to say, "I'm not going to compare myself to other people." But it's very hard to do.

That's why my friend doesn't believe me when I say that I don't get moved one way or another when something good or bad happens. How can that be? I understand how and why he rejects that idea. But my friend believes wholeheartedly in hierarchy. He determines his self worth based on his place in the food chain. I did this for years. I would go onto Facebook and when people I knew were doing well, I would get a grimace on my face involuntarily. It got to the point where I had to decide to hit "like" when I got that grimace. That was me calling myself on it, but that jealousy didn't go away right away. I just found out a friend of mine got a script optioned by a very high powered producer. And I instantly smiled. I sent her a message. I can truly say I'm happy. I've been able to change my reaction over the years. Her journey is not my journey. Her success is hers and my success belongs to me. We worked together early this year when I was a writer and she was an assistant. It was clear then that that was only temporary. She deserves that success because she has worked hard. And she's a nice person to boot. My other friend would have been angry and jealous. It's not a fun place to live.

So if you're not comparing yourself to other people to see how well you're doing, what are you doing? Before I get to that, let me make this clear: not believing in Hierarchy does not make me less competitive. I have a different friend who said something to me a few months ago, after we were having this conversation about divorcing from outcome. She said, "I'm just competitive. I can't help it." At first, I thought she was trying to say I wasn't competitive because I don't attach to outcome. If I apply for something, I forget it right after I hit "send." It's easier for me. That doesn't make me non-competitive. I'm totally competitive. With myself. I love to compete. I love to play the game. But I don't get caught up in result. That doesn't mean I'm lazy or uninvested in doing well. But working hard lets me know I've worked hard. And that I know for myself. I don't have to compare that to anyone else to know how hard I've worked. But I play to play - to not sit on the bench. I want to be in the game. Absolutely. But I don't get mad if someone does well or if I don't get selected for something. My turn's coming - I absolutely agree with that.

But I've got to stay on the field and keep focused. I'm not looking at the scoreboard. The opposite of hierarchy is Territory. My territory is the rehearsal room, the theatre, the classroom, the writer's room, the set. It's my office. It's where I do my work. If I'm not in any of those places, then I can't compete.

According to Robert McKee, the definition of a hack is someone who second-guesses his audience. It's someone who writes to the market place - who tries to predict what people want. He doesn't look within and do the work that he feels authentically. I often say, "I don't care if this gets produced." Is that true? Is that being honest? I don't write something with an intention of what a theatre or a network or studio will want. The great thing about living in this era of many channels, streaming services and ways to get our work out there is that not everyone has to want what you have. It can be something that's right for a select group of people and that means that I don't have to please everybody. I write what's exciting to me. I have the skill to execute well. And yes, writing on a TV show this year made me a better writer. I want to work and be employed. But I can't predict what someone's going to like. Therefore, I can't write thinking I know what's going to sell. I write what I feel strongly about and I put it out there. Then I do it again.

When I work and work and work I put in deeper roots into my territory. I create an impression that's difficult to ignore. The way to know if you have a territorial mindset is if it's the thing you have to do, that you would do if you were the last person on earth, that you don't need approval or permission to do and that you'd do for free. I have had this commitment tested over the past few years because I have done it for free. I've done it despite the fact that it takes up most of my concentration and energy. I have done it for no monetary reward. I have done it and lost relationships over it. But what I've gained for myself is beyond measure. It has given me so much more than it has taken away. And it will continue to give to me. I have a better life now because I do the work for its own sake. This is the root of my philosophy that I have a claim only to my labor, not the fruits of my labor. In this world, it's hard to explain that to people in a way where they don't think you're crazy or have a trust fund. That freedom only seems like the territory of people who have the freedom or insanity to not work for money. In that case, I'm crazy, not rich. And now I make money doing the work. But not because the money validates me. I had to validate myself first before I could get the side benefit of money for my work.

I realize how crazy that sounds. I realize what faith that takes to trust. I remember a friend telling me years ago that she just hopes the money comes. At that time, I thought she was crazy and I wished I could trust that much. And now I do. It has been a real journey to get there.

Once I realized that my work is a spiritual practice and a work of giving - a prayer or an offering - I was in for almost a decade of work to get there. I didn't have that realization and then everything instantly happened upon me. I had that realization years ago. And it took what it took for me to live that. But I knew that I had a higher calling as long as I have been a creative person. Then good things happened and I got outside validation and then I abandoned all higher thinking for that. Then the Universe made sure that I got the lesson so that I never forget it. And I've got decades ahead of me to enjoy the lesson - but I had to do the work regardless of whether or not the lesson would ever come.

Reading The War of Art over the past thirteen years has changed my perception of myself. I now live in a way I never thought I would. Like my friend, I thought this attitude was impossible. But without it, I couldn't survive. I don't force my beliefs on my friends. I don't say that this is "the way" for everyone. It's the way for me. It's how I have to live. I can't think about the rejections and collect them as a way to motivate myself. I can't compare myself to other people and think that's going to help me rise up. I can't beat myself up constantly or be jealous of other people and think that's going to motivate me. It just makes me scared and insignificant and angry. It keeps me put. The lessons I've learned is reward enough. The life I live is reward enough. The joy I get from doing the work is reward enough. I truly believe the rest is gravy. I am a happier person than I have ever been. And I don't have every material thing I want. I may never have every material thing I want.

I will have things.
I will live a good life.
I will have a good retirement.
I will go places and learn things and spend money.
But I won't be defined by that. I won't define my place in the world from what I have and others don't.
If I have something, it will be good enough that I have it.
If someone doesn't have what I have, that will mean that it's not theirs or not theirs yet.
I don't know where this enlightenment comes from, but I'm sure glad I've arrived at it.
I have a smile on my face most of the time.
The work is hard, but it gives me joy - as do my colleagues and friends.
I'm a damn lucky person to be in this body, in this moment, at this time.
I am really grateful.

My intention is to grow.
My intention is expansion.
My intention is inner peace.
My intention is exponential learning.
My intention is happiness.

I am grateful for lunch meetings.
I am grateful for the variety at the Grand Central Market.
I am grateful for walks.
I am grateful for a place to work.
I am grateful for my hearing.
I am grateful for my love for the people in my life.
I am grateful for my limitations.