By Leyn “Nyle” Ferrer
Expectations are the murderers of authentic succession.
As a child, I didn’t know any better. The next high-paying, hypothetical job was better said to satisfy those who expected something unattainable from me. From a doctor in a field I was oblivious to, to a fashion designer unequipped with the ability to draw, to a voice actor I never pursued, I was a kid jumping between dreams bright and inviting that I was blinded. Blinded from the reality that would soon unfold.
Is what’s waiting for me after a diploma a life of an endless chase of paycheck after paycheck?
I try not to think of that. Try is the word. That afternoon when my mother found out that I wrote came with a suggestion too “pushy” to be considered genuine. “You should write a book. Maybe you’ll become a New York’s Best-Selling Author.” When I refused while expressing my personal reasons, I came off as “too negative.”
This is what I worry about. While I am passionate about the way I string words to communicate ruminations, capitalizing off it would drain it of its passion. Writing for the sake of money no longer makes it a hobby, but the contender for worry I do not want to carry. I am supposed to be proud of what I’m doing.
But a story must be compelling enough to sell.
What do I have? A pen that falters with a downstroke. Lined papers loaded with words uttering nonsense. The innate desire to create because I am motivated by the drive to make a difference. I don’t have the capacity to profit from what is intended to be for my own enjoyment.
But a story just has to tell.
Expectations are, after all, the murderers of authentic succession.
I want to write because I have things to say. Ideas to expound on. Scenarios I imagine that I want to share. Fish out thoughts simmering in chaos through interpretation. Discover order in the disorder.
Maybe you do, too. Maybe you have something you love doing the most that no one else does. The “perfection” bit that involves how well you do that thing you love is out of the picture, in this sense. What matters more, what really counts, is how you live that life. How you use your time.
Do you become yourself, or a façade of the reflection others expect of you?
Remember that expectations are the murderers of authentic succession. Perhaps if I was never expected to be an amazing writer, an incredible actor, a great singer, a marvelous artist — then maybe I would have been successful in my pursuit of those dreams.
If I only promised myself that I would be better — not perfect — and took the steps necessary for growth and improvement…
Well, no point tripping over the “ifs” I set out for myself. I can grieve for the time I have lost; I’ll do it. One thing that would be foolish to do, however, is to expect progress from oneself by beating themselves up.
Wouldn’t you have murdered your own succession, then?**
