Retrospective: Self-doubt & ambition
When I was in my early twenties, I interned at a daily in London and did something—or rather, didn’t do something—I’ve always kind of regretted.
I had read a really well-told longform feature about human rights violations at one of Apple’s contractors by one of the paper’s staff writers, and when he came by the Legal news desk, which I had opted to be assigned to at the time (I had studied law at university), we struck up a brief conversation when I told him how much I liked the piece and shared my own thoughts about it. He seemed to appreciate my perspective and we got around to talking about my internship and the kind of writing I hoped to do in the future. Before he left, he said that I should send him some writing samples, which he would be happy to take a look at. He didn’t say to what end, but I hoped it might mean something I almost didn’t dare imagine—that I would get a byline at the paper sooner rather than later.
But I never did share my writing with him, nor seek him out again—not when I was still at the paper, and not after.
I think I thought that my work wasn’t strong enough yet, that I was still so far from where I wanted to be—no matter that I, being a terrible perfectionist, was holding myself to the standards of the writers I thought to be “the greats”. I think I kept thinking that I would reach out when I felt finally ready, and then of course time went on and on and if I did ever come close to feeling ready, then it also felt like I had already left it too long to pick things up again. Who would remember? It had probably just been an offhand remark on his part. It wouldn’t have changed anything substantially. That was what I told myself.
If you’re a young writer and you’re reading this, don’t do what I did. Of course, those who have been at it longer than you have aren’t expecting you to be perfect; they’re just responding to what they see as your “potential”—which is a potent thing when one is just starting out, so definitely ride that wave for all it’s worth.
Anyway. Not long after that, I reached out to a nonfiction author to ask her advice on how to get started in narrative nonfiction, and this time I made sure I gritted my teeth and showed her my portfolio, even dared to self-consciously share some of my ideas. I think she made an honest assessment when she said, “Your work shows ambition.” Meaning: its’s not there yet, but it shows promise. At a certain point in your writing journey—or perhaps always in your writing journey—the main thing you have to do is show ambition. Because if your standards are high enough, you’ll probably never feel like what you’ve done is good enough.
I would like to say that, now, in my thirties, I no longer doubt myself. But that’s not true. I still feel a sense that I should already be better than I am, which sometimes makes me want to obscure myself from those whom I think must see my present limitations clearly. But I’m here to remind myself, and whoever is reading here, to refrain from our such worst impulses. Because being honest about where you are and where you want to get to is the only way to get better.