Recently, I’ve started taking long, 8,000-step walks around our new neighborhood in Raleigh, North Carolina. (And, honestly, I love it here).
I’ve never spent a lot of time living in smaller cities (and I never thought I’d end up living in Raleigh), but I love walking down the meandering, oak-lined trees listening to a self-development podcast or book to put my mind at ease.
Most recently, I’ve been re-listening to Elizabeth Gilbert’s breezy Big Magic and wanted to share what she had to say about day jobs.
Day jobs are important. For me, at least, they’ve taught me new skills, introduced me to fascinating people, and paid for my living expenses (including some massive student loans) in HCOL areas.
But I will admit that for most of my life, I’ve felt like they were getting in the way of my dream job: writing. I’ll admit that I also felt a little shame about them, that someone I wasn’t a “real” writer if I had other forms of income to support me (thanks, culture).
So, I found what she had to say in Big Magic to be refreshing.
Here’s what Liz Gilbert writes:
“The whole time I was practicing to be a writer, I always had a day job.
Even after I got published, I didn’t quit my day job, just to be on the safe side. In fact, I didn’t quit my day job (or my day jobs, I should say) until I had already written three books–and those three books were all published by major houses and were all reviewed nicely in The New York Times. One of them had even been nominated for a National Book Award. From an outside perspective, it might have looked like I’d already made it. But I wasn’t taking any chances, so I kept my day job.
It wasn’t until my fourth book (and that book was freaking Eat Pray Love, for heaven’s sake) that I finally allowed myself to quit all other work and become nothing other than a writer of books.
I held on to those other sources of income for so long because I never wanted to burden my writing with the responsibility of paying for my life. I knew better than to ask this of my writing, because over the years, I have watched so many other people murder their creativity by demanding that their art pay the bills. I’ve seen artists drive themselves broke and crazy because of this insistence that they are not legitimate creators unless they can exclusively live off their creativity. And when their creativity fails them (meaning: doesn’t pay the rent), they descend into resentment, anxiety, or even bankruptcy. Worst of all, they often quit creating at all.” (pages 152-153).
I loved this. So much.
I never would’ve guessed that even after the juggernaut of Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert would’ve kept her day job. (I mean, why would she – or anyone – have done that?). Because she’s smart. And she knows what’s up with how little most writers get paid for their books.
It also reminded me of the section in the book where she mentions that, as a sixteen-year-old, she made a vow to never look at her writing as a source of income, that she would provide for it (and not the other way around).
This action somewhat supports the belief that writing (or any art really) is a spiritual practice (so why would you monetize that?).
“I’ve always felt like this is so cruel to your work–to demand a regular paycheck from it, as if creativity were a government job or a trust fund. Look, if you can manage to live off your inspiration, that’s fantastic. That’s everyone’s dream, right? But don’t let that dream turn into a nightmare. Financial demands can put so much pressure on the delicacies and vagaries of inspiration. You must be smart about providing for yourself. To claim that you are too creative to think about financial questions is to infantilize yourself–and I beg you not to infantilize yourself, because it’s demeaning to your soul. (While it’s lovely to be childlike in your pursuit of creativity, in other words, it’s dangerous to be childlish)” (page 154).
She continues a bit later, “There’s no dishonor in having a job. What is dishonorable is scaring away your creativity by demanding that it pay for your entire existence. This is why, whenever anyone tells me they’re quitting their day job in order to write a novel, my palms get a little sweaty. This is why, when anyone tells me that their plan for getting out of debt is to sell their first screenplay, I’m like, Yikes” (page 155).
I can’t tell you how validating it is to hear that from such a huge author.
It also makes a ton of sense: I feel like we’re living through some unprecedented economic times (with inflation), and the arts aren’t exactly known to be hugely lucrative. So, why should anyone have any shame about meeting their needs and feeding their families?
Questions to Consider
As I’m currently job hunting, I had I to re-listen to this portion of the book several times to get my mind right. I’ll admit that I had to face some things within myself about how I previously viewed creatives-with-day-jobs versus creatives who don’t. If you’re wrestling with the same issue, I’m offering some helpful questions to ask yourself:
What is the Starving Artist/Professional Artist stereotype in our minds? Why do we believe that professional creatives can’t have non-creative day jobs?
What if I identified (and murdered) my own Starving Artist stereotype?
What would happen if I let go of shame from having any and all non-creative day jobs?
What if I continued to pursue creating from a place of pure, no-holds-barred, IDGAF energy?
What if I redefined “professional”?
What if there were no “real artists”? There were people who just either did the work (or didn’t)?
What if I cared less about the outcome of any particular work?
What if I continued my writing as a mere spiritual practice?
What if I recognized that there’s a whole internet of people (especially on YouTube) who have a financial interest in me quitting my day job to pursue my dream?
What if fame and prestige didn’t matter?
What if I paid less attention to social media?
What if I leaned more into gratitude for being creative/passionate/fun?
What if I could find a day job that I actually loved (instead of endured)?
What if none of this matters?
Coda
Over the weekend, Pat and I went to a local filmmakers’ showcase at a brewery in Durham. We watched five films and then stuck around for the delightful Q&A afterwards.
I raised my hand and wondered of the filmmakers where the inspiration for their breathtaking pieces came from. Of the five people onstage, four mentioned that they had found their inspiration for their pieces from their day jobs.
I smiled wide.
Yes, because of (and not despite) their day jobs, they still managed to get their creative work done and shown. Talk about professional.