Do You Live To Write, Or Write To Live?

Speaking your thoughts aloud, before you have even had time to think them, can reveal your truth. The amount of conversations I endure with my mother, much to her reluctance, about my ambiguous career seems to have become a regular occurrence. The dilemma is this: how do I live as a writer? Writing, it is what shines light on my dark mind. It aids me in my breathing. One of the few things to bring a smile to my tired soul. The act of writing gives me purpose. To put it simply, I live to write. But, my question is, must I write to live? Sitting opposite my mother on garden chairs during today’s installment of "What should I do with my life?", my own words affirmed what I needed to hear. 'Anyone can be a copywriter, but not just anyone can be a writer.'

My experience writing copy for corporate companies has not taught me a thing about writing. In fact, I feel as though I am unlearning the natural skill and passion I already own for the craft. As though I am merely recycling other people’s words, who have recycled other people's words. Fuelling the endless funnel of content that feeds an algorithm based primarily on increasing numbers. I am unconvinced of who reads these articles and gains something from them - or who reads them at all.

Even past our development years of early childhood, we absorb what we consume. In writing, and most forms of art, the expression "finding your voice" is mentioned often, and of great importance. But, our voices are built upon multiple voices. Inspirations and influences. Combined and seasoned with a special flavour that only you can create. For, exact duplication is impossible. This is what allows art to continue to grow. I want to fill my mind with literature legends, poets who write as if the divine and those less known who are holding their gift close to their souls. Surely, if I allow myself to soak in such beauty, I can then carry that beauty into my own form with a bit more ease. Natural, it would be. For this reason, I cannot spend forty hours of my week writing nonsense. I fear I would become accustomed to that robotic, mindless, soulless process of writing. Thus, the ease and beauty of my own stories would suffer as a result.

Although there does not exist one universal answer to the following question, it is something that many of us ask ourselves. Do we work to live, or live to work? When confirming a career path, especially, this question can consume the trail of thoughts leading to a conclusion - if there can ever be one. Is a job, just that? A job. Something that requires our competency, while an obligation of a large part of our time and lives. Or, can this dedication of time only be occupied with our passions? What we love and what we live for. Money is a powerful influencer. It has the force and destruction to warp what you most adore into something you dread. For, this thing you once did for free out of sheer pleasure now funds your survival.

Ninety thousand hours. That is the average amount of our lives we dedicate to working. Understandably, we want to think thoroughly about how we spend this time. Although life should not only exist outside of these hours, there is still so many hours that we can fulfil with our passions. With holding the people and passions we value as dearest. All of the things that make us feel most alive. Perhaps a job is only something that funds, not only our survival, but our living. Should I never find my smile again, I will work in all of my hours to make others smile. To feel good about the lives they are living. Write about our world and make sense of it. Tell peoples' stories. Use my own words to make a real difference. Instead of duplicating what has already been said and ignored just for a paycheck.