With the new year upon us and new year’s resolutions kicking in–or fading away–I think it’s important to remind ourselves that there is usually a cost (or two or three) associated with making a commitment.
This is concept is commonly known as ‘the price you pay’ for making a certain choice: the freedom you give up to have romantic or sexual relationships with third parties when you decide to get engaged and get married to another person; the short term fun you may miss out on when you decide to pursue academic excellence and study for exams rather than party; the luxuries you may sacrifice now to achieve financial independence sooner rather than later.
In our excitement and/or hurry to make a commitment to another person, a particular goal, or a way of life (a spiritual practice or dietary choice), we may often be unaware of or minimize the costs associated with our Big Decision.
If we don’t fully calculate, itemize, consider, appreciate and acknowledge the sacrifices we’re going to make going down a particular path, we risk failing, becoming resentful of the things we ‘missed out on’, and we set ourselves up to be unhappy.
Some choices have tangible costs: we know we’re going to have to work hard for a long time to be a doctor or a lawyer; we know we’re going to have to exercise, practice, and eat right to be a world class athlete. Of course.
Some choices are less obvious with the tolls they exact. What does it cost a person to be a parent? The kid comes first most if not all of the time. You don’t sleep as much as you’d like for 18 years, maybe more. You worry. You plan and over-plan. You don’t buy the motorcycle; you buy orthodontics. You do your best, and you still never know if you’ve been a ‘good parent’.
That’s the trade-off. On the flip side, you get your child’s wide-eyed wonder for a few innocent Christmases, a full-hearted hug when they win the big game, and maybe the deepest ‘thank you’ of all time when they’re finally moving out–off to college or off to a new city with a new job.
As a writer, I know I’ve paid a price. My success, to the outside world, is probably difficult to measure. It sometimes is for me, too. I am never satisfied. I am never finished. Accolades are in the past. My work is ever present.
The little voice just behind my right ear whispers an idea for a story or a line for a song with diabolical frequency and glee, and I am grateful. I scribble down the idea, pour out the song lyric, note the dialogue that would go with the scene, remind myself of a topic I want to cover on this blog.
But the novel needs to be finished and the screenplay needs to be rewritten and the children’s book needs an illustrator and on and on and on. I do not have hobbies. I have few what I would call ‘outside interests’. Most of my focus is on Feeding the Beast: writing, so that I don’t go crazy, and so I honor my gift.
I do have something that resembles a personal life: I work to make time for my wife–and be present and attentive when I do. Not easy when a hologram-like scene plays out before your eyes: characters in a story blurting lines and rushing here and there, remnants of the day spent in front of the computer screen, creating. Or song lyrics that come to you in the shower, leaving you scrambling for a pen and paper, dripping wet in the living room.
My wife is patient when I am ‘a million miles away’, mentally.
My friends are far away, physically, and have their own lives with children and grandchildren. More than a few are retired. They ask me when I’ll retire. I tell them, Never. They ask how the writing is going. I am vague. They ask when I’ll visit. I am well-intentioned, but I am non-committal.
Why? Because I’ve already made a commitment, and I know the price I have to pay.
So assess what you’ve set out to do and make sure you know the price you’ll have to pay. It won’t make things any easier, but it will make them more acceptable.
- BGT