In Ask Matthew #1: Are We Legit?—while discussing what motivates writers—I wrote the below paragraph:
“(I’m going to write another post on subconscious needs and writing. I think many of us are, at times, unaware that our conscious why and our subconscious why are not aligned, which is why some of us can feel underwhelmed and even depressed when we are doing all we can to serve that conscious why. More on that soon.)”
As promised, here is the post on subconscious needs and writing:
Why are we really doing the things that we do?
I’m going to talk about writing here, but this can apply to anything.
Long ago, a writing mentor told me that I’d be ecstatic when I finished writing my first publishable novel, but the feeling would only last a few minutes before I’d immediately want to secure the services of a literary agent. And when I landed a lit agent, I would feel an amazing sense of accomplishment again, but for only a brief time, because I would want that agent to sell my novel. And when that agent sold my novel, I would feel happy, but, once again, temporarily, because I would want that novel to end up on the best-seller lists. And if that novel should end up on the best-seller lists, I’d want it to be number one on those lists. Then I’d want it to be number one for many weeks. Then I’d want to see a movie adaption. Then I’d want that movie to sell a lot of tickets and win awards. And then I’d want the success of the next novel to eclipse that of the first. And on and on forever.
At the time, I didn’t buy it.
I truly believed that if I could just finish writing a publishable novel and land an agent, I’d be the happiest person in the world and would—many years later—die feeling accomplished and content. And when my literary agent, Doug, first agreed to represent me, I actually was ecstatic … for a few seconds.
There’s something to be said for ambition. I had a lot of that when I was a young writer and I do believe it kept me producing pages and jumping through the right hoops.
For a long time, my conscious why—as in, ‘Why am I writing?‘—was to become a perennial New York Times bestselling author. That’s what I thought I wanted. But when Silver Linings actually landed on the Times list and stayed there for nice run—after the initial fantastic dopamine hit wore off—a part of me started to feel frightened. The same happened when I attended the Silver Linings Playbook movie premiere in New York City and went to the Oscars and later promoted novels in Brazil, Canada, England, Scotland, and the Philippines. I was too terrified to verbalize it, but a big part of me was asking these questions: That’s it? Why don’t I feel satisfied? Did I do something wrong? Did I mess this up somehow?
I’ve had a decade to ponder why those successes never really satiated—especially on the soul level—and why my alcohol consumption spiked around that time. Don’t get me wrong, I am eternally grateful for all my career has afforded me. I realize how lucky and privileged I am. But most of it never really scratched the itch. I just kept chasing the next few fleeting seconds of accomplishment ecstasy. It was an addiction. I kept serving the conscious why, while I totally ignored the subconscious.
As of July 2023, I’ve been in Jungian analysis for almost three years. The goal of Jungian analysis is individuation, which roughly means returning to—or reintegrating important aspects of—the person you were before you accrued all the hits and mind viruses and baggage. My analyst is guiding me back toward my original, unmarred self.
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