On doing it right

Hi there! You haven’t heard from me in ages, but I’m back. Spread the good word and let’s have some fun, ey?

Back when I was a Middle Eastern studies undergrad, I used to lurk on a forum for recent converts to Islam. While the majority of devout people I’d meet in real life were super nice folk, that particular online space was far from wholesome. Rather than being a place of learning and sharing, it felt like a venue for finger-pointing and complaining.

A common thread there was dunking on “cultural Muslims”, because they, unlike the converts of two weeks ago, didn’t choose the faith and had actually allowed their cultures to pollute the purity of true, unadulterated belief. The women of that forum, and yes — it was mostly women — would pour out paragraphs and pages arguing with one another on what was permissible and what was out of bounds. They vehemently disagreed over important things, like what day of the week is best to cut one’s nails. Or whether one could attend their Christian aunt’s funeral. Calling people they didn’t agree with kuffar (plural of kafir, part buttermilk, part unbeliever) was not uncommon. They called themselves sisters but there was little sisterly about their conduct.

As I saw more of the world and mingled with people from different walks of life, I noticed that this sort of zealotry is far from being unique to converts, and is shared by almost anyone “fresh” to something, be it a hobby, profession, or lifestyle. The root of all evils is the desire of a neophyte to do everything right from the start. Can’t go on a run without proper footwear. Can’t speak the language I’m learning unless I make no mistakes. Can’t enjoy my records unless I set up the speakers in a pentagram like some bloke I saw online. There should be a name for that. Appearance anxiety? Someone has probably already coined a better term.

The thing is, getting something right is addictive on so many levels. Especially if others are getting it wrong. If you have ever schooled someone for stabbing their food with chopsticks, you know the feeling of superiority. The same applies to correcting someone’s grammar or sneering at folk not able to recite the national anthem. But when the high fades, you start craving a stronger dose. You seek out opportunities to show off that superiority of yours. People get tired of you and you’re no longer invited to parties. So you focus on yourself, trying to become the epitome of whatever you’re LARPing as. And the higher you climb, the lower you fall, as a time comes when you’re no longer able to match your own standards of being the real deal.

I am convinced this is one of the reasons for creative burnout. At least the kind of burnout I’ve been trying to overcome the past X months. The kind of burnout that sends tremors down your arms with every thought of lifting a pen. As with all cases of burnout, it starts slowly. Burnout like this doesn’t happen overnight. You slowly make your way to it. I know I did. Creating rituals that would hit me on the head like a boomerang when not completed. Setting arbitrary goals, challenging myself on every step. Write 500 words per day. Read 3 stories per night. Take 15,000 steps, drink 2 litres of water, do this, do that. You first become a productivity optimiser, and then you optimise yourself out of the equation, leaving only the looming shadow of that muy grande thing you are destined to do, coupled with a list of meaningless boxes you have to tick.

Finally, you divide all creative acts into those worth your while and pointless ones. You slowly convince yourself that unless you dedicate yourself to your MAGNUM OPUS Vol. 23, you’re just shooting blanks. You might as well be doing nothing. And not being able to keep up your imaginary streak, you choose exactly that. In this Manichean setup, doing nothing becomes a comfortable default option. Doing nothing means conserving your energy, like some New Age sperm retention freak, for something bigger than yourself. Until that thing grows so huge it starts haunting you at night.

I’ve met too many writers who “don’t really write”. Some of them ended up in that predicament because of an inability to take criticism. Others — due to sheer laziness or the unbearable pace of modern life that bulldozes everything in its way. There are many ways to the waterfall, and there are even more ways to burnout. Is there a way out? I don’t know but I’m eager to find out. And if there’s a zealot out there ready to prove me wrong, I’m happy to be called kafir.

The TL;DR version of this 800-word rant is simple: I’m back and will be posting more non-fiction and fiction again. Some of t will be mid, some of it hopefully will exceed that level. In the coming weeks, I’ll be re-sharing some stuff written and published on other platforms, and will follow up with new original pieces.

And how have you been doing? Let me know1